Rain hammers
by MidnightBlast
Summary: [BruceOC] Evelyn Werren arrives in Gotham City, ready and eager to take on her new job as research assistant to Dr. Jonathon Crane. But not all things go to plan, not all first impressions are correct, and surprises come when they're least expected.
1. Ch 1: For those who come

All writing is an experiment, so here goes another one.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did...but alas, I do not.

**Chapter 1: For those who come **

The plane landed yesterday. Sunday. She'd been told Gotham was an eye-opener. Well she'd found America on her first visit to be eye-opening. Too overdone and exaggerated for her tastes.

But Gotham didn't even qualify as eye-opening. It was so beyond it that she could find no words to describe it as the train flew through the city, delivering her to Arkham Asylum.

Monday. She'd always hated Mondays, but she was hopeful about today. She'd heard excellent reports of the work done by Dr. Benjamin Sawyer from her father, but even more impressive were the stats on Arkham's head psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathon Crane. Her boss.

Her father may hate Gotham, but he spoke most highly of Jonathon Crane—calling him a valuable asset to the world of psychiatry. Turns out, an opening as a research assistant appeared at Arkham a few months later, and at her father's urging, she applied.

The train lurched to a rough stop, jarring her from her thoughts. The train was almost empty by this point, and she quickly exited, glancing around her.

A little run down, and it was most certainly an industrial neighborhood. And as she neared Arkham, she began to see just how terrifying this place would be at night, and she sarcastically questioned why anyone would choose to work here.

"Good morning. May I help you?" The woman at the reception desk asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Yes, I'm Evelyn Werren, Dr. Crane's new research assistant."

"Oh of course—from England correct?"

"Yes ma'am." Evelyn nodded respectfully, fully aware just how much her English accent stuck out.

"I'll notify Dr. Crane immediately." Evelyn nodded in thanks as her eyes scanned the room. Their security looked tight…very tight—what with the heavy, locked, sliding doors and almost no windows, even in the reception area. It was why she suspected Dr. Crane was needed to give her access behind the sliding doors.

The sound of heavy moving metal reached her ears as she calmly turned towards the door. She met with intelligent blue eyes shielded behind thin, square-framed glasses.

"Ms. Werren, I presume?"

"Evelyn Werren, yes sir." She shook his offered hand.

"Jonathon Crane."

"A pleasure." She said offering a smile.

"Welcome to Arkham," he said almost stiffly as they passed through the sliding doors, "lets get you situated and then we'll start to work. I'll see to it that you have a security pass card before the day is out."

"Thank you sir."

"Jonathon." He cast his eyes to hers for but a second, a small smile on his face as they continued down the hallway. Evelyn could say he was handsome…in a sophisticated, almost enigmatic, svelte way. "So where in the UK are you from?" He casually asked.

"London originally," she said, "grew up and lived in Swansea until a few years ago."

"First time to the states?"

"No. I spent a semester in college studying abroad in the US. In Swansea, I heard from my father about the work being done here, and it greatly interested me, so here I am."

"And not a moment too soon," the hint of a light laugh sounded on his words as he opened a door, revealing a small, nicely furnished office, "well, however unexciting, this is your office," he said, a true lack of interest on his voice, "the work you do will mostly come from me. And most days, our agendas will coincide—researching medications, treatments, patient histories and even some counseling sessions."

"Not be offensive, but it sounds like glorified secretary work." She commented, watching surprise discreetly fill his eyes.

"On the contrary," he replied almost pointedly, "you'll be acting and working as my right hand. And it will be meticulous, detail driven work."

"It wouldn't be a job otherwise."

"No it wouldn't," he agreed, an almost lightness to his voice mixed with something heavier, "my office is across the hall, so once you're oriented, bring the notebook in your desk to my office and we'll begin."

"Thank you Jonathon." She nodded, offering a warm smile.

"Of course Evelyn." He nodded before disappearing out the door. Evelyn turned to the desk, setting down her bag.

Interesting chap, Jonathon. At times he seemed genuinely interested and warm…other times almost cold, condescending even. But Evelyn couldn't say for sure, after all she'd only just met the man.

She sighed, quickly scanning the room, finding it satisfactory, before fishing for the aforementioned notebook. Confidently, she tucked it under one arm and set off across the hall.

* * *

chapter one...now onto chapter two... 


	2. Ch 2: The invitation

a bit of an explanation: I don't really know that much about the "batman" world...so some of the character backgrounds, job titles, names, etc may not quite fit with what you already know...so I'm admitting the error on my part and just asking that to be overlooked & replaced with whatever facts you might already know.

disclaimer: i still own nothing, never have, never will. and i also don't own the title (a track name from the"Road to Perdition" soundtrack) or any of the quotes that are the chapter titles.

**Chapter 2: The invitation**

"You don't think she is faking do you?" Evelyn casually asked Jonathon as they peered through the tiny glass window.

"Certainly not," Jonathon sharply answered, "the glassed over look in the eyes, the shaking, the near-panic state," he paused, "no…I'd say it's all real." He turned to face Evelyn who looked almost sick. "You don't look so well—are you alright?" He heard himself ask, a form of concern hinging on his words.

"I guess so," she answered unsteadily, "it's unnerving to see a mind splintered like that—makes you wonder what could keep it from happening to you." She turned her eyes back to the small pane of glass on the door, but not before they froze on the wall.

Quickly Evelyn snapped her gaze away, fighting back obsessing thoughts. She couldn't lose it, not here, and especially not in front of Jonathon— and she forced her eyes to turn to the poor woman inside. Her lips were moving…it looked as though she was repeating "scarecrow" over and over.

"You see the movement of the lips no doubt," he said casually, as though it was nothing important, "her constant muttering of the word 'scarecrow.'"

"Of course," she quickly answered, closing her eyes and fighting back the overwhelming urge to pace the floor, "it's not uncommon for someone griped by fear to focus it on one external object." Jonathon turned to her with an almost glaring eye. Since when did she know about fear? She was no psychiatrist or psychologist…and certainly not as versed in the subject as he.

"That is correct," he simply said, as though a mentor to her student, "I have not had a research assistant who knew about the actual work and goings on here. What did you study at college?"

"Major in mechanical engineering, minor in psychology."

"So you know about the workings of a mind?"

"Not half as well as you," she answered, a knowing tone to her voice, turning to meet his approving, confident, almost cold gaze, "but enough to know that it interests me…and enough to understand how so complex a machine could so easily fracture."

"A machine...?" He questioned almost dismissively. No doubt the engineer in her thought it that way…and he supposed in a way he did too—it was just so powerful and delicate, but it had a breaking point. Everyone's did, and no one's was above a simple fear.

"What started your interest in the mind?" She suddenly, casually asked, jarring him from his thoughts, before her eyes subconsciously strayed to the wall again.

"Oh, I saw first hand the affects of mental illness," he said almost devoid of emotion, but with some arrogance still breaking through, "knew the lengths it could drive a man. And that knowledge created fear—we always fear what we don't understand—and so it became fascinating—fear in of itself. So, I wrote my thesis on fear, it seemed fitting enough…and now, here I am." He shrugged indifferently as though it wouldn't have mattered where he was. Evelyn turned sharply from the wall, forcing herself to focus on the detached tone in his voice.

She guessed his story was a sugar coated version. Some mystery and coldness, covered by arrogance and glimpses of charm, always surrounded Jonathon Crane. But it was intriguing nonetheless. And in the weeks she had been working around him…the more she felt herself drawn to him. Some mysteriously alluring spell in those entrancing blue eyes of his just fixated her.

Suddenly she shook her head, trying to chase such thoughts away. Crane was nothing more than a colleague, a friend…and her boss. Nothing more. Yet no matter the thoughts of Jonathon running through her head, her eyes still traveled back to the wall, unable to let it go.

Jonathon watched her eyes quickly dart to the wall again before moving back to his. Discreetly, curiously, he turned his own eyes to the wall, noticing only a file holder that had lost a screw and hung lopsided on the wall. Well, well, well.

He glanced back over at Evelyn, whose eyes were now shut as she swallowed hard. A slight, surprised smirk spread across his face. Silently he wondered what her compulsion was.

"Evelyn, are you sure you're all right?" He curiously asked again, making sure to put a note of concern in his voice.

"Of course." She quickly reassured him, forcing a smile before her eyes flitted back to the box for but a second…fighting not to pace the floor, or hyperventilate.

"You don't look so well." He took a step closer to her, blocking her view of the box. Remove the cause and study the after effects.

"Well you shouldn't worry," she said, forcing her thoughts on Jonathon, shifting her focus, "I'm fine."

"Good." Together they started off down the corridor as he watched her relax and let go her obsession. But he hadn't fully picked up a compulsive behavior—no hand rubbing, no rapid breathing and blinking, no hair twirling.

Whatever it was, she worked at it. Maybe she was on medication for it, and that was what helped. He glanced sideways at her, noticing a most inwardly pensive look across her pale face.

Obsessive compulsive disorder. Who would have thought it in Evelyn Werren?

"Ah Jonathon." She turned as did Jonathon at the warm voice coming from down the hall. Dr. Benjamin Sawyer. He reached the pair in no time, exchanging a warm greeting with them both, engaging them in slight conversation about the patient in cell #4B.

"Sounds like quite an issue," Evelyn commented, grateful for conversation to distract her mind, "a family reunion, and the family wants this man to appear at their party…even though he is a serial killer?" Sawyer looked just as confused as she did.

"So they say," Sawyer said darkly, rolling his eyes, "so we're sorting through all sorts of legal affairs and evaluations, trying to determine if this beneficial and how much legal say the family has." Jonathon nodded understandingly, it all seeming a bit absurd to him. "And speaking of parties," Sawyer suddenly said, "Jonathon, there's a black tie benefit hosted by Bruce Wayne at the end of the week to raise money for the Gotham Children Hospital. I received an invitation and am unable to attend for family reasons, but I would be more than grateful if you would go and give Arkham's donation." Evelyn watched a look of hatred fill Jonathon's eyes, but a small smile of delight spread across his aquiline, angular face.

"I would be happy to." Jonathon smoothly lied, covered by his smile and tone.

"Wonderful," Sawyer smiled happily, "and as far as needing a date goes—why you've already got that solved. Why not take the lovely Miss Evelyn here—you two would make a smart looking couple." Evelyn felt her cheeks burn bright red as she fought to keep a smile back. She could only guess the look on Jonathon's face. "Well, I will see you two later no doubt. Thanks again Jonathon."

"Any time Benjamin." Crane called out after the doctor's retreating form.

"Don't feel as though you have to take me to the charity benefit," Evelyn quickly said, "I would understand completely if you already had someone else in mind."

"I would not mind your company," he shortly said, his eyes fixing on hers, "I would welcome it to the dim crowd that Wayne's parties attract." The ever familiar arrogant tone lacing his voice.

"Thank you—sounds like a lovely evening."

"If we can survive the evening with our intelligence in tact." He said almost indifferently earning a soft laugh from Evelyn, causing a small smile on his face.

"From the stories I've heard, that sounds like a true challenge." She agreed as they left the maximum security wing.

"But I think together, we'll be able to see it through." He said, casting her a quick hint of a smile.

Something about him...when he let himself, he was attractive and charming, and she could believe herself in love with him.

From the weeks they'd been working together, they had gotten along amazingly well—her style seemed to fit his exactly. It was a little uncanny, and even though there wasn't much lightness between them, she could see they had developed a relationship that extended just beyond employer and employee.

And as she closed the door to her office, she made a mental note to let maintenance know to fix that lopsided file holder before her next visit to the maximum security wing.

* * *

So, whaddya think? Worth continuing? Too predictable, too convenient, too horrible? Review if'n ya want. And with luck, chapter 3 will be up within the next week or so. Thanks for reading! 


	3. Ch 3: People in motion

alrighty, hello all—here we go with chapter 3. thanks for the review & to all those who read! (i'm mostly a silent reader myself.) but here goes ch. 3 & just a tiny explanation:

this story is from a colored, limited omniscient 3rd-person POV. Mostly colored from Evelyn's POV (which may not always be reliable), with bits of other characters thrown in here & there. So we don't necessarily know other character's motives & such at times….so, if/when they act out of character (which they will--i think it speaks more about the characters, makes one wonder at their motives),or details are given that don't fit with what we all know to be true, then just give it two or so more chapters & things should start matching up. thanks!

disclaimer: I still own nothing….never have, and sadly never will.

**Chapter 3: People in motion **

Bruce Wayne. Of course Evelyn had heard of him. Boy billionaire born with a silver spoon in his mouth. It made her sick that he had such a life and chose to blow his money and image. Her father had spoken of Bruce Wayne, and thought him to be too idealistic and a waste. And as she surveyed the large staircase leading into his grand mansion of a house, she could easily see how a man living in a house on a hill could fit that description.

But the evening was not a total waste she decided, after all she was dressed in a gown she loved, and Jonathon looked to die for. His tux just further emphasized the sleek, occasionally arrogant suaveness that constantly surrounded him. Even though she knew they were fast becoming close from working together, she was still no closer to cracking the mystery surrounding him than the day she met him.

He seemed to know everyone and everyone seemed to know him. She felt almost lost at his side. She had no notable thesis to her name or anything unique about her. But Jonathon was most gracious and supportive, never leaving her to falter on her own. At times it felt like instead of being just friends and colleagues, they were a romantically linked couple. And most of the other guests seemed to think that way also.

"Dr. Crane," Mayor Donald Robertsgreeted warmly, reaching for Jonathon's hand, "it's been quite some time."

"Yes it has Mayor."

"And who is this lovely young woman at your side tonight?" Roberts' eyes fell on Evelyn.

"Donald Roberts, may I present Evelyn Werren, a good friend and colleague of mine." He never once said she worked for him or that he was her boss.

"A psychiatrist also Miss Werren?" Mayor Roberts asked interestedly.

"No sir, Jonathon and I just work together at Arkham."

"Yes, splendid work being done I hear," Roberts complimented, "and Dr. Crane—your thesis on fears and phobias—phenomenal and insightful."

"Why thank you," Jonathon answered, failing at keeping a humble tone to his voice, "fear has been an interest of mine for many years now." He smirked proudly. He certainly was arrogant at times; Evelyn had to give him that.

"My wife even read through it, and some of the ideas you presented helped us with our children and overcoming some of their childhood fears." Evelyn smiled warmly at the mayor as she rested her hand on Jonathon's arm. She hadn't read his thesis, but everything she'd heard about it was supportive. Jonathon tried to not to let his disappointment show through his eyes or small smile.

"Well I'm glad," he forced himself to say, keeping his stiff smile in place, "if you'll excuse me Mayor," he nodded respectfully at Roberts, "Evelyn." He brushed a chaste kiss across her cheek before disappearing in the crowd. Evelyn looked after him, a smile of surprise on her face. That kiss had been most unexpected.

"How long have you and Jonathon been together?" Roberts suddenly asked, catching Evelyn's attention.

"Oh…we're just friends." She shook her head embarrassedly, dismissively.

"Well it won't be too much longer before you two cross that line," Roberts said knowingly, "you're the first woman I've ever seen at his side at these things. We were beginning to wonder if he kept himself locked up in Arkham so much that he had no one close to him. I'm glad to be proven wrong." Roberts smiled warmly at Evelyn as she fought back an embarrassed flush. "Excuse me, Miss Werren. My wife is waving me down."

"Of course Mayor. Pleasure to meet you."

"And you." He nodded before weaving his way through the crowd to his wife.

Evelyn suddenly found herself alone, and it really wasn't as intimidating as she thought. She drifted to the refreshment table and found a champagne flute before retreating to a vacant corner, the perfect place to crowd watch.

She had yet to see Bruce Wayne. Her father had told her everything about him—how he lived his life wastefully. How he had money and skills to change the city of Gotham for the better, but chose to do nothing. Those comments coupled with the stories from locals who knew him to run around with models, buying expensive items pointlessly, only further fueled her opinion of him. Rich wastes like him made her sick…maybe even a tad bit jealous. He had everything wonderful in life and he chose to throw it all away. What she wouldn't give to have a life as perfect as the one she knew Wayne had.

She focused on a tall, trim man with smooth dark brown hair and warm chocolate eyes. That most certainly had to be Bruce Wayne—he looked different than his picture in the paper, but it was still him. There was no mistaking that look of wealth and surety about him.

She could certainly see the handsome playboy appeal to him—what woman wouldn't be drawn to those eyes or that smile? And the confidence in his smile was overwhelming—it seemed as though he could take on anything thrown his way without even batting an eye. Yet there was also something reserved and drawn in about him. But she couldn't figure out what someone like him would have to hide.

Suddenly those chocolate eyes found hers, a curiously playful light in their dark depths. Startled at having been caught staring, she hoped it didn't register across her face. She watched his smile fall partly away and his eyes focus more intently on her.

Well, from what she could see, everything she knew about him was true. She turned from him, resuming crowd searching, not really caring if she saw the man again.

She rocked on her feet and tried to glance through to the crowd to find Jonathon. There he was—speaking reservedly with a large man in a tux near the donation table. She thought about walking over to him, but first decided to drop off her champagne glass. She turned back towards the table, startled at the man now standing next to her.

"Not enjoying yourself this evening?" He suddenly asked, his voice smoother and humbler than she'd thought it to be.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. It's a lovely evening." She answered, a lack of true sincerity in her words.

"No I agree with you—it's almost too stuffy for me too."

"You and I have nothing in common." A look of surprise washed over his face.

"Oh really, Miss…?"

"Werren," she forced herself to say before turning from him, "Evelyn Werren."

"Welsh?" He suddenly asked. She turned to face him, surprise breaking through her countenance.

"From Swansea, yes," she answered, clearly surprised, "you've an ear for accents Mr. Wayne, I'll give you that." She forced an indifferent note to her voice.

"That may be the nicest thing you've said since we've met. And it's Bruce, Evelyn." She discreetly rolled her eyes, half-smiling, "I don't seem to remember your name on the guest list—"

"No, I came with a friend—Jonathon Crane." She quickly said, before finishing off the champagne, not wishing to continue the conversation any further.

"And how is the good doctor these days?"

"You know him?"

"Not personally," he answered, "I've heard his name."

"Oh," Evelyn said disinterestedly, nodding her head, "well, he seems to be doing fine."

"You don't sound too sure." Sheturned from him,as she shrugged her shoulders, lazily, uncertainly. A twitchy silence fell between them as she found nothing to say.

"Well…," he started cordially, for lack of anything better to say, "I hope the rest of your evening goes better."

"Who says it hasn't gone well?" He froze and tried to hide an embarrassed smile.

"I would think that obvious." He said knowingly asshe turnedto face him,realizing he meant her attitude towards him.

"You want the truth, Mr. Wayne?" She simply, respectfully asked. "If Jonathon had not asked me to come, then I would never have willingly set foot in your house." He nodded, as though already knowing why.

"You're entitled to your opinion." She laughed quietly at the conceding smile on his face.

"You're so humble about your arrogance."

"My 'arrogance?'" She raised a hand to stifle another small laugh at the bemused smile on his face before it fell away. "Well, people will believe what they want." She froze at the raw truth in his voice.

"Won't they just." She agreed quietly, maybe even ashamedly, her eyes falling from his.

"Excuse me Evelyn." He barely registered her silent nod out of the corner of his eye before moving away. The conversation had taken a direction he did not wish to continue. And she made it quite clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

At the moment he couldn't say it bothered him, even though he'd imagined their meeting going so much differently…. No matter now, he finally reasoned. After all, Evelyn was here with _dear _friend, Jonathon Crane.

Bruce picked up a champagne flute and turned back in the direction he'd just come from. The respectable Dr. Crane was now at Evelyn's side and he noticed her softened expression. She wasn't overly beautiful, just elegant in a classical sort of way—too bad her words didn't match. Her form fitting dress, a dark burgundy, hugged her small frame in a tasteful way, contrasting perfectly with her light skin. Reminded him of rich merlot and soft feta—both excellent together and classic, in an almost romantic sort of way.

And judging from the look on her face, she seemed interested in the dear doctor at her side. Bruce watched a half smile grace her face before she looped her arm around Crane's offered arm, and they walked off towards the foyer. Curious still, he watched them, unwilling to let Evelyn out of his sight so quickly. It was with more than just a friendly air that Crane slipped a cloak around Evelyn's shoulders before leaning in and softly kissing her cheek.

Well, Bruce thought their relationship worked—two snobs who deserve each other. He finished off the champagne and resumed mingling.

* * *

well there it is. ch. 4 should be up by the end of the week or so...depends on my workload. Hope you enjoyed! Post a review if you feel so inclined, and if not—thanks for reading anyway! 


	4. Ch 4: Of what I really am

alrighty--chapter 4. thanks for the review & to all those who read! its such a wam feeling to check the stats and see the number of people who read, or at least hit the story. anywho, as they say in show buisness "on with the show!"

disclaimer: still, nothing is mine.

**Chapter 4: Of what I really am **

Douglas Lobell

Jacob J. Pierce

Mary G. Sloane

Evelyn thumbed through the three files. Three severely acute cases of bi-polar disorder. All were on strict medication and counseling schedules, and it was time for a visit from Dr. Crane.

Silently she wondered if she would be accompanying him this time around. She found his handling and the workings of splintered minds to be so fascinating…maybe only because her mind was not without its splinters. She sighed softly before her gaze suddenly narrowed. The drop box next to his office was crooked on the wall. It had not been that way earlier. And there was no way to straighten it out.

She stepped back, catching herself obsessing, and fought back her compulsion to pace the floor. It wasn't hard to drop three files in a lopsided box…it really wasn't. Or so she kept telling herself. But still her mind wouldn't let it go.

"Evelyn—stop," she hissed under her breath, "you can do this." Over the years, she'd found talking aloud the best remedy for overcoming the oddities of obsessing. She clamped her eyes shut, taking a deep breath as she reached a hand out and dropped the files quickly into the box before rushing back to her office.

Once the door closed, she gave in. Allowing herself to quickly pace the floor, and forcing her mind to forget all about the lopsided box, all while making a mental note to let maintenance know to fix it.

And to think, she'd been told she wasn't in need of medication for this. That it wasn't as bad as the underlying cause of these obsessive-compulsive tendencies. She guessed she agreed with her doctors on that. The medication she was taking now was doing its job to perfection, and she had become quite adept at catching her obsessions and fighting them back. But she was far from perfect at it.

God, did she hate it. Who knows just how many times she'd almost hyperventilated on the tube for one reason or another, or paced worn paths in the carpet of her old flat. And Malin—God rest his soul—had brought on the OCD. Not intentionally of course…and even though he was responsible for curing her, his existence also splintered her mind further.

But she couldn't think about Malin right now. She had work to do…a lot of work….Maybe she wouldn't be making those counseling sessions after all.

xxxxxxxxx

11:47 pm. Good God. Sixteen hours and Evelyn still found herself at Arkham. Well at least Jonathon hadn't been lying when he said she'd be working...meticulous, detailed driven work.

"Yeah...no joke." She looked at her paper strewn desk, noticing just how tempting it was to want to lay her head down. Coupled with the soft strains of opera in the background, her head grew heavier and heavier.

She promised herself it would only be for a minute or two. But no sooner had her head hit the desk did she settle into a gentle sleep.

"Evelyn…?" She couldn't be sure of the voice. "Evelyn?" She groggily opened an eye and glanced up, spotting Jonathon's poised figure in the doorway.

"Jonathon?" She asked sleepily.

"Sleeping on the job are we?" He asked lightly, shaking his head as though disappointed.

"No…its way after hours—"

"Evelyn, I wasn't serious." Nothing in his voice supported such a notion.

"But still I…I shouldn't have fallen asleep. There is so much to be finished for tomorrow."

"Your dedication is most commendable and will not go overlooked."

"And what about you?" She looked up at him. "What keeps you here at all hours?"

"I have that rare oddity of actually enjoying my job."

"There're few who can say that…." She said for lack of finding anything better to say. He glanced quickly around her office before settling on the paper scattered about her desk.

"Well you seem to have things well enough in hand for one night. Why don't you go home and rest?" He made sure a note of concern registered in his voice.

"But you need that report tomorrow, and there's still much more editing to be done—"

"Dear Evelyn," he circled around her desk, reminding her of a predator approaching its prey, if not for the almost gentle note on his voice, "it's quite clear you're exhausted," he placed his cool fingertips against her cheek, "and the last thing I need is for you to fall ill." She could not help but smile as her eyes stayed on his. Slowly, softly he trailed his thumb down her cheek and lightly across her lips, making her heart race and flutter.

"All right." She said softly, nodding dazedly as he pulled his hand back.

"Good." He smiled and Evelyn thought she would melt.

Wordlessly she gathered her bag and coat, almost sure she could feel Jonathon's eyes on her the whole time.

"Jonathon, you can't be ok with this…I've never not been allowed to meet a deadline."

"Evelyn, even I can be understanding." He said laughingly, mock disappointment on his voice.

She nodded sleepily surprised as she shrugged an arm into her coat. Soundlessly Jonathon stepped behind her and held open the other side.

"Thank you." She glanced over her shoulder, surprised by just how close he really was. His hand still held her coat, which now rested against her shoulder. His eyes read hers, secretly calculating.

"Goodnight Evelyn." He brushed his lips across her cheek ever so airily, again sending her heart into overdrive.

"Goodnight Jonathon." In a rush, she leaned over, pressing her lips against his before quickly pulling back. She turned from him, stopping her CD player before leaving the small office, her cheeks burning bright red.

Part of Jonathon felt like rolling his eyes. The things he put up with just for security.

But another part of him was strangely confused. How long had it been since he'd been shown open kindness, and/or been kissed…?

No matter now. There was work to be done. He crossed her small office, stopping in front of the abstract wall painting.

He gripped the black frame and slid it up and out from the wall, setting it to the ground. And then he turned to leave, closing the door behind him, pleasantly satisfied with how well things had been progressing.

Especially with Evelyn. She'd been much more receptive to his wishes than he'd originally thought her to be.

Thankfully so. Especially tonight, just as preparations were nearing the final stages. Especially since Max and Devlin would be bringing in newly arrived shipments within the hour, and Crane just couldn't have Evelyn around for that.

It would only unnecessarily force his hand.

* * *

too predictable? the ending of this chapter seems a bit cliched to me, but then again, maybe not.sorry for the shortness--this past week had the workload from hell, and the adverse effects from my flu shot did nothing to help. anywho, chapter 5 should be up by the end of this week or so. post a review if'n ya wants! thanks for stopping by!

p.s. happy early halloween!


	5. Ch 5: 'Neath the halo of a street lamp

i'm a week late in updating (sorry for that!). but i've got two chapters ready to go, so here goes ch. 5! thanks to all those who have stuck with the story so far!

disclaimer: i (still) own nothing.

**Chapter 5: 'Neath the halo of a street lamp **

She didn't get much sleep that night. She couldn't believe she had actually kissed him. Jonathon Crane—her boss! She knew she would be unstoppably jittery and embarrassed around him all day long.

But he wouldn't say a word about it. He was too professional to ever let it affect him. In fact, she knew the only evidence of his remembrance would be in those eyes of his—those icy blue intoxicating eyes.

"Good morning Evelyn." He said crisply, an almost sly smile across his angular face, and she saw it...hidden deep in those knowing eyes of his.

Last night was personal, today was business. And there was a difference.

"Good morning Jonathon." She tried to keep the nervous flutter from her voice, but failed miserably and felt her cheeks start to blush slightly.

But sure enough, he never said anything about it, and it was business as usual.

Evelyn soon found herself thrown headfirst into a series of meetings that he himself was absent from. She paid this no mind, knowing how he expected her to fully report on the dealings of these meetings, once again making her feel like a glorified secretary. And as she trudged back to her office, hours later, she could only be thankful that he had her do more than just attend meetings and type memorandums.

Immediately she noticed the lopsided abstract painting on the wall of her office. It had not been that way earlier. She knew it wasn't.

But at least this would be easy to fix and she tried not to focus on it too much—catching herself obsessing—and walked over to realign it.

Suddenly she felt a small draft graze her hand. Her brow crinkled in confusion. Surely there wasn't an air vent behind the painting?

Cautiously, she pulled down the painting, revealing an open shaft in the wall. It looked just big enough accommodate large packages. A delivery chute of some kind? Or a laundry chute? Like in fancy hotels?

Evelyn couldn't say for sure, but it was slightly unnerving. Part of her was screaming to go find Jonathon, the rest of her wanted to go through the chute to see what it was.

She grabbed her cell phone and flipped it open. The bright light lit the interior of the chute a good ways, but not far enough to find an end. But it did look clean enough …and just large enough.

Curiosity won out.

She placed a hand on the edge and shimmied inside, the light from her cell phone lighting the way. She felt almost like a spelunker—crawling through on her stomach, using her elbows and knees, as the chute slanted gradually downwards.

"This may just be the stupidest thing you've ever done Evelyn," she scolded herself, "with your luck, it'll end up being a garbage chute, and you'll wind up dead in some incinerator."

Suddenly she came upon an opening. But it wasn't lit up…or at least not very well. Holding her phone up high she crawled out onto a metal landing. With wide eyes she glanced around and found herself on a set of rickety looking metal stairs, deep in the bowels of Arkham, lit by one tiny light high on the ceiling.

Knowing it too late to turn back, down the stairs she went, curiosity growing with each step. So she guessed that chute must be for deliveries of some kind. But she still couldn't be sure. The stairs ended at a metal door that Evelyn didn't even hesitate opening.

A hallway lay out before her. It was eerily reminiscent of the ones on patient floors, but in major disrepair. Her footsteps echoed along the corridor and she fought to keep her breathing even. She came upon an open door leading into a room with glass windows. Seeing light from below and hearing faint sounds, she crossed the threshold, her eyes widening as she couldn't believe what she saw.

xxxxxxxxx

The last shipment had finally arrived. Everything was on schedule—just as it should be.

"Dr. Crane," Crane turned from his thoughts, "do you want to start on this new shipment before the weekend?" Jeremy, an overseer, eagerly asked.

"Of course. We have a schedule to keep."

"How could I forget?" Jeremy said sarcastically, moving a large box over to a table of people in white masks and suits. He oftentimes thought they had the easiest job—they just prepared the drug in a liquid form. They didn't have to answer to Crane or the Boss if something went wrong or was compromised.

He did.

He glanced up, sighing, relieved the new shipment was in and Crane seemed pleased. He was sure with this safe delivery that a raise was in order—he sure could use one.

His brow crinkled as his focus sharpened on the shadowy figure of a woman. She must have noticed him looking her way for quickly she turned and disappeared. Jeremy walked back down the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed on the spot.

"Dr. Crane…."

xxxxxx

Evelyn fought with every ounce of her being to keep from pacing her office—even though she wasn't obsessing. She simply could not believe it. She could see no motive, no reason for anything behind it. Contaminating the water in Arkham with some kind of sedative she could understand, but infecting the whole city?

The thought made her sick to her stomach. She only wished she'd been on a lower level in order to read one of the labels on the canisters. What were they doing? And why was Jonathon involved…it didn't figure. Sure at times he was secretive and cold, but she never would have pegged him as being involved in something so potentially monstrous.

Her eyes flew to the clock on her desk as she slumped into her chair. 3:47 pm. Another hour and thirteen minutes to go before she could leave to go home and sort things all out. She shifted her focus to some papers loosely scattered across her desktop and decided she had better work on something else—anything else.

And she'd gotten away with it. No one had seen her…had they?

* * *

and onto chapter 6... 


	6. Ch 6: My only friend, the end

here goes chapter 6. thanks to all those who read & have read this far!

disclaimer: still own nothing more than i did before.

**Chapter 6: My only friend, the end **

"Evelyn?" Jonathon's soft voice filtered curiously through the door, causing her a moment of panic.

"Come in." She rose from her chair, hoping movement would alleviate her nervousness. He couldn't know she had seen…no one had seen her. She smiled warmly and what she hoped was sincere as he closed the door behind him.

"You look so flushed Evelyn, are you alright?" He asked caringly, his eyes falling on hers as he took a step closer to her.

"Oh, I'm fine—yes, just a little warm is all," she quickly answered, "what can I do?"

"I came to see the progress in researching the case on Alan Jones," he said as she nodded and moved around her desk, him close behind her, "his lawyer believes he is in need of another evaluation of his mental stability." She flipped the file open as she felt his hand rest on the back of her chair. He stood so close to her, her shoulder brushed against his stomach every time she moved and she could smell his faint, dizzying cologne.

"The DA didn't even call Jones' mental health into question," she suddenly said, "yet Jones' lawyer wants to bring it up anyway?" She turned towards Jonathon. "Trying to plead criminal insanity when he's already been treated and habilitated?" Jonathon turned to face her.

"That may be what he's trying for." She nodded uncertainly, not fully seeing the justice in still claiming someone criminally insane when they were on treatment.

"Well, it's not my place to judge, just research." She snapped the file closed as Jonathon smiled thankfully at her as she rose. "Looking forward to the weekend?" She casually asked.

"I suppose. I'll be here quite a bit—there's a lot of work and preparations for next week that need attending to." He indifferently answered as she stiffened. She remembered the chemicals in the water supply. He furrowed his brow and looked at her concernedly.

"Evelyn…are you sure you're alright? You look scared." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder, a hidden knowing tone to his voice.

"Scared?" She answered quickly, shaking her head vigorously. "Why should I be scared?"

"People get scared for all sorts of irrational reasons," he gently said, moving closer to her, watching her eyes soften, as he rubbed his thumb against her shoulder, "but you shouldn't be scared now."

"I'm not." She heard herself say, her breathing quickening, all thoughts fading away, eager to fall away in his eyes

"Good." On the rare occasions when he smiled, it was killer—and she found herself melting under it. His hand rose gently from her shoulder to her cheek as he slowly leaned in. Impulsively she met his lips halfway. A kiss that was so gentle and smooth, yet heated and longing completely blew her mind away.

Suddenly a sharp sting in her arm broke through the haze and before she could move, darkness enveloped her.

Jonathon smirked. He knew playing up to her would pay off one day. Her intelligence would push her too far and she would discover the lower levels. Sure enough, that day had come.

He supported her limp frame in his arms as he looked down at her, shaking his head disappointedly. She'd been doing her job so well—and observing her hidden OCD had been most enjoyable—but, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and that simply couldn't be ignored. He shifted her around and gathered her in his arms before leaving her office behind in favor of a more secure room.

xxxxxxx

Nearly all those uninvolved had left Arkham by 6:30 pm. Crane locked the door to his office behind him as he walked silently down the hallway, buttoning his lab jacket. Chemicals were just a bear to remove from clothing, and there was no sense in ruining another white dress shirt. He slid his security pass-card and entered a 4-digit code before disappearing into a lab where Evelyn lay on a table.

He had no worries about her waking up anytime soon. With the dose of Traktacin she'd received, she probably would not wake up until Saturday afternoon. But by then she would no longer be his problem.

He stood over the table, looking down at her, wondering just what exactly do to with her. He turned sharply at a metal door sliding open, admitting two men he knew well.

"What's with her?" The first one, Max asked curiously, a slightly worried note to his voice.

"She witnessed our underground operations," Crane smoothly answered, "something needs to be done before she reports it."

"How do you know she hasn't already?" Max asked Crane accusingly.

"She's been here since she found out." He shook his head, disappointed in Evelyn all over again. The second man, Devlin, raised his head and flipped a cell phone back in his pocket.

"Boss doesn't want her hurt." Devlin reported. Crane looked up, surprise registering only in his eyes, a plan forming in his head.

"What are you going to do, Doc?" Max asked curiously, eyeing him with a suspicious eye. Crane turned and walked directly towards a cabinet on the wall, filing a syringe with a pinkish liquid.

"After this, when she wakes up tomorrow, _wherever_ she will be," he looked at the two men, issuing them a silent assignment, "she won't remember anything about today or yesterday." He lifted her left arm, and injected her above the elbow joint.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

More than anything Bruce hated pretending to be Bruce Wayne. Having to attend all these formal parties and dinners, mingling with people as shallow as mud puddles and greedy as cats in rooms full of mice. Not only that, but they were as boring as hell.

"Did you have a nice evening sir?" Alfred casually asked from the front seat.

"Oh sure Alfred." Bruce answered noncommittally, pulling his tie out from his collar before resting his head in a hand, yawning.

"You need to sleep tonight—you were out _gallivanting _much too late last night." Alfred commented caringly. Bruce looked up with a defeated smile. He knew his old friend and confidant was right. He turned to the window and lazily glanced up at the night sky obstructed by thick winter clouds, only making it feel colder than it really was.

"Oh my goodness!" The car halted to a sudden stop, throwing an unsuspecting Bruce from his seat.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked concernedly, letting go the seatbelt.

"A hand sir…there in the brush." Alfred said, disbelief mixed with worry on his voice as he glanced out the passenger window. Bruce slid across the slick leather, eyes transfixed on the window.

"Good God." He whispered, a pleading form of an attempted prayer, as he flung the car door open. The skin of the wrist was freezing cold to the touch, but still had a pulse. He began throwing loose brush aside, revealing the body of a woman in a black pantsuit, with a face strikingly familiar.

"I know her," he said quietly, dislike coloring his voice as Alfred walked around to join him, "she was at a party here a while back." He fought to remember a name but couldn't find it.

Dismissing it for now, he gingerly gathered her in his arms, and carried her to the car as Alfred helped him lay her across the backseat. Without caring, Bruce slid in the front seat as Alfred returned to the wheel and they continued on home. Bruce glanced over the seat, staring down at the woman's still form, searching for a name.

"Werren," he suddenly, softly said, "that's it—Evelyn Werren." He turned around, sighing preparedly, laughing wryly. "Just my luck."

* * *

well there ya go. i should have the next chapter up by this weekend or so (at least that is the plan!). post a review if you feel so inclined, and if not--thanks again for stopping by! 


	7. Ch 7: When fear and dream must collide

alrighty, here we go with chapter 7. thanks for the nice reviews & to all who read! thanks for sticking with it, even through my longer-than-stated update periods. but onto chapter 7!

disclaimer: nothing is mine.

**Chapter 7: When fear and dream must collide **

Bright. Too bright. Evelyn clamped her eyes shut and rolled over. But then she let them open again…gradually adjusting to the light. She didn't remember having so many windows in her bedroom…or having a white pillow case. Suddenly she bolted up, a heavy woozily feeling rushing to her head.

This room wasn't hers…and the clothes she had on most certainly were not hers. She never slept in pajama pants…always shorts. Drowsiness and collapse threatened to consume her again but Evelyn could have cared less. She had to know where she was. Someplace high end, judging by the furniture in the room…and the white silk kimono draped across the foot of the bed.

She stared at it curiously, fighting to remember anything about the previous eve and how she came to be here. Determined to get the answers, for she could find none, she slipped the robe over the t-shirt and pajama pants she was wearing and shakily walked to the door.

Never before had she felt so unsteady on her feet. It was borderline frightening to her, only because she didn't know if she could keep herself from collapsing or not. She wandered down a large, wide staircase, and found herself on a landing leading into one large staircase, leading to the main floor. Or what she guessed was the main floor.

"Evelyn…," she turned at the sudden voice and saw none other than Bruce Wayne, "it's good to see you up."

"I guess so," she said tentatively as she continued down the stairs, watching him lazily walk over "if you don't mind my asking," she said, furrowing her brows in honest confusion, "how did I come to be here last night? I'm now assuming I'm at your house."

"Yes, you are….and we were hoping you could tell us," Bruce openly answered, "Alfred and I found you unconscious on the side of the road last night, half laying out in the woods." A note of concern hinged on his voice as she looked at him dubiously.

"You what?" She asked in disbelief, not willing to believe a single word.

"You don't honestly remember anything?" He asked, a note of investigation on his voice more than surprise.

"No…not a thing…," she raised her eyes to his, looking at him skeptically, "what did you do to me?" A note of surety rang on her words. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her in surprise.

"What did _I _do?" He asked in confusion. "Saved your life most likely—it's freezing out."

"No," she said, a note of a frustration on her voice, "to my memory. I can't remember anything about last night, or how I got here…or what I am doing here." Bruce looked at her in almost shock, before an idea crept to his mind.

"Do you know what day this is? And what day yesterday was."

"Of course," she spat, "it's…," a blank look crossed her face, "the month is February, and the day…is…." She shook her head, lost and angry with herself for forgetting something so simple.

"Maybe you were given a drug of some kind," he said as the thought came him, "just enough to fuzz your memory. In the form of a pill, mabye—do you remember…no, you wouldn't," he paused, "did you check your arms for any possible unknown marks?" He asked curiously.

"No—that doesn't make any sense. I don't remember receiving any injection or anything." She said, resisting the urge to tell him it was a stupid theory.

"And you wouldn't if the vaccination cleared your short term memory." He said, a spark of annoyance on his voice at this woman's belittling insistence. She raised her eyes to his, a determined, annoyed look of her own swirling about their dark green depths.

"Very well then," she shrugged out of the kimono she was wearing and draped it across her shoulder, before straightening out her arms and inspecting them, before flipping them over. "See? No evidence of any recent injections. Your theory fails."

"Except for right here." He wrapped a hand around her left wrist and twisted her arm gently over to where she saw the tiny, inflamed red whelp just above her elbow joint. Her mouth fell open in shock, worry and even some fear creasing her brow.

"You…you did this to me!" She suddenly accused, everything making sense in her mind. "How else could you have known where to look! You sick freak!" She watched a controlled anger fill his eyes. "Where's a phone? I want to call the police and get out of here."

"Good luck finding one," he said, "they are around, but most of them hidden in order to achieve a more pleasing, aesthetic look, so I was told." He forced himself to keep his voice mellifluous. Surely whatever she was given—and she was given something—was still clouding her mind. "In the meantime, I suggest you go back and rest."

"Why should I?" She stared coldly down at him.

"Because you'll not be leaving for some time." He simply said, a note of caring hidden on his voice.

"Why not?" She questioned, fighting to keep some fear and anger from coloring her voice.

"You're still suffering the effects of whatever you were given—it would not be right to leave you on your own just yet." He smiled in what he hoped was a caring manner before starting back down the steps.

Involuntarily she shivered, fighting back a yawn. He thought he was so haughty for keeping her here, when she knew in her mind it was him who had drugged her.

Begrudgingly, she started back up the stairs, shrugging her arms back into the warm kimono. Another long yawn escaped her and she felt her legs growing unsteady. Maybe Bruce was right…but he couldn't be.

She continued up the stairs, reaching out for the railing to steady her sluggishly moving feet. Her knees involuntarily buckled and she gripped the railing tight, somewhat breaking her fall before her head grew too heavy to hold up under the weight of her eyelids.

Bruce heard the sound of her first fall, only then to watch as the rest of her sunk down onto the stairs. He flew up the stairs to her side, first making sure she had not injured herself, smiling in relief as he could tell she had lowered herself to the floor.

Gently he gathered her up in his arms and carried her back to the same room. He knew the effects had not fully worn off yet—she had not been asleep nearly long enough. Yet she thought herself awake enough and strong enough to go ahead and crawl out of bed. As he laid her gently against the soft white sheet, he silently wondered what it was that made her so standoffish.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Her head was screaming by the time she was alert enough to remember anything. She had found herself back in bed again…in a familiar room that was still a million times too bright. But yet she had sworn she'd left this bed once before….

"_What did you do to me?...you sick freak!"_

Her words echoed in her head as she wandered down the bright corridor, hoping…no, desperately wanting to find Bruce and apologize. Everything had been so hazy, and she'd felt so befuddled and afraid. Not that she'd ever admit it…but she had.

She pulled the kimono tighter around her as she slowed to a stop, her eyes fixed to the wall. A portrait of the happiest, most close-knit family hung right before her eyes. No doubt the Wayne family…Bruce and his parents. A sad smile crept to her face as some jealousy, mixed with sympathy grew in her heart.

"Good morning Miss Werren." Alfred's pleasant voice drifted down the corridor to her tired ears.

"Good morning." She said politely, turning from the portrait for but a second.

"They made quite a handsome family." Alfred commented almost wistfully, coming to stand beside her.

"Yes it seems that way," she said softly, a note of regret on her voice, "I read about what happened, and honestly, I couldn't believe it. The night we met—before I knew what happened…I said some things I shouldn't have…," she trailed off, almost embarrassed by her whole confession, "where is he?" She asked longingly.

"Last I saw him, he was in the library. He'll be most anxious and pleased to see you up and about. I'll show you Miss." He turned and started down the hallway towards the stairwell with Evelyn close on his heels.

"So does he have nice robes available for all the women that come through here?" She heard herself ask curiously, looking at the white, silken kimono she now wore.

"No—and truth be told, you're the first woman he's ever leant that too, since you're the first woman to ever stay the night in a separate room," she felt herself involuntarily blush, "no, the robe you're wearing belonged to his mother. He thought you might be more comfortable wearing it when you awoke." Alfred turned at the base of the stairs and motioned to the double doors to her left. She nodded quickly and smiled before pulling down the thin handle and disappearing inside.

"Oh Alfred, good you're back—I need—" Bruce stopped short, once his eyes fell on Evelyn's willowy figure, as she offered an awkward smile.

"Sorry if I'm disturbing you. I—we can talk later—"

"No, no," he quickly said, moving around the desk, "don't go. I would welcome your company." She looked up at him questioningly.

"What? Even after everything I've said to you? Accused you of being something you're not—"

"What? A 'sick freak'?" He calmly asked, noticing her fight back an embarrassed blush. Oh how she wanted nothing more than to pace the floor and never stop.

"No," she shortly answered, "of being a spoiled playboy whose life has known no misgivings. When really, you were dealt one of fate's worst hands those many years ago."

"And she's still beating me," he added quietly, "but I held nothing against you—"

"You should have," she simply answered, raw truth in her voice, "I should not have assumed and jumped to such conclusions. I'm sorry if those empty words caused you additional pain. And, my condolences on the untimely death of your parents, even though it is twenty some-odd years overdue."

"Thank you." He said softly, trying not to drown under the weight of his own memories.

"And as for calling you a 'sick freak,'" she downheartedly continued, "I am sorry. I don't know what…something just made everything so hazy. I couldn't be sure what I was thinking versus what I was saying." He smiled understandingly, noticing how tired and worn she looked.

"Please sit." He motioned to a chair as she kept her eyes from his, sitting quietly down. She looked so rattled, so shaken.

"Again, I want to apologize for earlier," she said from where she sat with her fingers now pinching the bridge of her nose, "my life has held so much uncertainty that I tend to cling rather hard to surety. And when that surety is lost—especially on something such as the events of one evening or the simple day of week—it really gets to me." She admitted, an almost hurt note to her voice.

"I understand," he said truthfully, "in all honesty, it would rattle anybody I would think. To have your mind tampered with; it's not something anyone could easily handle."

"'Mind tampered with…'," she said, shaking her head, as though repeating a fact. Bruce stood attentively, waiting, hoping that she would say more. But only silence filled the room. The majority of her face was hidden in her hand and her sudden silence worried him for reasons he couldn't explain. He moved closer to her, sitting on the ottoman, concern filling his warm eyes.

"Evelyn," he said, trying to meet her eyes through her hands, "Ev…" He said softly, his hand involuntarily rising to hold hers and pull it loosely from her face. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, filling him with as much confusion as concern. She met his eyes for just a second, hating how vulnerable it made her feel, before quickly turning from him, covering her face with her one hand.

"Evelyn, what—"

"What do you care?" She quickly, defensively spat.

"Please—if I didn't care, I'd have left you on the side of the road." He said comfortingly. She shook her head, and he knew full well that she didn't have to tell him anything. And that she wouldn't. "You don't have to tell me anything Ev." He softly said, memories and feelings of his own filling his heart, as he reached a hand to her shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb. She looked over at him, an ever so slight smile on her thin face.

"What…what did you call me?" A small light entered her eyes.

"Ev…." He admitted almost sheepishly, as though it was not right for him to call her something so informal.

"I've never been called that before."

"I won't say it again." He quickly backpedaled.

"I don't mind…I actually like it." She admitted, wiping the tears from her eyes and sniffing back fresh ones. A silence fell between them, and she lowered her head, resting her elbow against the arm of the chair, and her mouth against her knuckles.

She looked up slowly, fresh tears threatening to fall, and reached out for him, desperate for human contact. It seemed as though that was what he had been waiting for himself. Without hesitating, he wrapped his arms tightly, comfortingly around her, holding her close as she clung to him. Her tears had returned, but he didn't mind and neither did she—the warmth, simplicity and reassurance of a human touch was overwhelming to them both.

"I like listening to your heart beat," she suddenly, softly said, her voice somewhat muffled by the cloth of his shirt. He smiled ever so faintly, masking his surprise, and rested his head atop hers. He had forgotten what it felt like to be treated like an ordinary person, like someone who was deserving of love, happiness, and normalcy. Even though Ev had some secrets about her that she wasn't readily sharing, for just this moment, there was nothing he wished was different.

"Wish I could hear yours." He heard himself softly say against her curls.

"Maybe someday you will." Her words even surprised her. Did she really mean that?

* * *

well thats all for now. i'll go ahead and say it'll be at least a full week, maybe closer to two,until i can update again (i'm spending break in a place with no computers & things promise to be crazy once i get back). post a review, comments, suggestions, criticisms, if you want & thanks for stopping by! 


	8. Ch 8: Love is but a song we sing

hello all--welcome back for chapter 8! thanks again to all reviewers & readers! this story is for you guys, enjoy!

disclaimer: i still own nothing (not even my chapter titles).

**Chapter 8: Love is but a song we sing **

Time seemed to have stood still. But it couldn't have, since the clock on the mantle now read 7:49 pm. But Ev had never experienced such a whirlwind of emotions before. Not even in the time of Malin's death. She sighed as she turned her eyes to the window.

Bruce had been gone most of the afternoon, from when they parted in the library until now. She didn't have a clue as to what he could be doing on a Saturday afternoon, but she'd contented herself to exploring the library and resting on the plush sofas, realizing it was none of her business to know.

"Miss Werren?" She turned her head sharply at Alfred's sudden voice. "Dinner is served if you wish to come eat."

"Oh, thank you Alfred," she said, food never having donned her earlier, "dinner sounds wonderful." She rose from the sofa, still a little unsteady on her feet. She braced a hand against the back of the sofa as she walked around it, gauging her steps.

"Miss Werren, are you alright?" Alfred asked kindly, concern hinging on his voice as he stepped closer to her, offering a steadying hand.

"I think I'm ok…thank you. I've just been sitting down for so long, I got a head rush when I stood up." She let go the sofa and took some steps that were shakier than she liked them to be. Alfred smiled comfortingly, doubt in his eyes, before walking back to the door with Evelyn close behind him.

She followed Alfred through door after doorway, room after room, until surprisingly they reached a part of the kitchen with a small table set for two. A candle included.

"Master Wayne thought you might be more comfortable eating in the kitchen versus the formal dining room."

"Thank you," she said warmly, "should I be expecting him any time soon?"

"He said he would be up in a minute and that you're not to wait for him."

"Don't worry, I won't be too far behind." She turned with an unexpected smile at Bruce's voice, meeting his eyes.

"Good evening Bruce," she said as he pulled her chair out, "and may I say, your bathrobe looks smashing this evening." He smiled blushingly as he pulled his chair up to the table.

"Well, I, uh, heard on the news they were the latest things in fashion, since you're following the same trend." That may have been the first time he'd ever heard Evelyn laugh.

"Mmm—this wine is wonderful." She suddenly said, lowering her glass.

"Is it?" He looked at it curiously, swirling the merlot around the glass before raising it to his lips. "I believe it's Australian…."

"Wine connoisseur?" He smirked almost sheepishly. "Mm, I love a sweet wine."

"Must be what makes you so sweet." He playfully suggested.

"Oh yes," she agreed sarcastically, almost having choked, "to be sure." She met his smile for a moment before turning to her plate.

"So," he said after a bite of steak, "you know about my family, or current lack thereof—"

"Current? You planning to plant and harvest some more family?" She asked lightly.

"Not right away," he said dismissively, "but it's nice to think of marriage and having children someday."

"It is a nice thought," she said almost wistfully, "but if I ever had kids, I'd be so scared of messing them up." Bruce glanced up curiously.

"Which brings us back to my original question of your family…." He trailed off, uncertain what more to say as he watched her almost hesitate.

"How about we leave the maudlin topics until after dinner?" She gently suggested. "I have a feeling they'll spoil the steak and merlot." She raised her glass.

"Fair enough." He raised his own glass and met hers with a soft clink before lowering it to his lips.

xxxxxxxxxx

She walked lazily into the living room, wine glass in hand as Bruce followed behind her. It had been a most relaxing evening and atmosphere—all of which were pleasantly surprising to Ev. Only now was she truly seeing just what an ass she had been earlier, and deep down it still troubled her.

"Again Bruce, I have to apologize for everything I said earlier…you must have thought me such a shrew," she sat stiffly on the sofa, setting her glass on the table, "I can only imagine your reaction at finding me in the road, 'oh no—not this English hellcat.'"

"I admit—my initial reaction at finding you was 'why you of all people,'" she looked at him understandingly, "but now I am glad that of all people, it is you." Sharply, she looked up at him in disbelief.

"You can't honestly mean that…." She said pointedly.

"But I can, you're more interesting than you let yourself appear." He said plainly, watching disbelief somewhat fade from her eyes, replaced by what appeared to be embarrassment.

"I think twisted is more the word you're looking you." She muttered quietly as she leaned forward to her wine glass. Her comment made Bruce even more curious, but he wasn't sure if she'd meant for him to hear it. For the time being, he chose to gloss over it. Instead, he watched as she settled back against the sofa, sipping her wine.

"How long have you been in Gotham?" He suddenly asked, looking for more conversation.

"Oh, not too long…maybe a full month," she said, shaking her head dismissively, "but long enough to hear of the Bat-man that has been sighted around."

"Of course," he said, not surprised to hear it, "everyone in Gotham has heard of it. What do you think about him?"

"I've never seen him….Jonathon thinks he should be locked up in Arkham." She added with a slight laugh on her voice.

"Maybe he should be," Bruce agreed quietly, knowingly, "but I asked what _you_ thought."

"After making an ass of myself when I judged you too quickly, I'm trying not to judge others too quickly without having known something about them first."

"You thought you knew about me—"

"And I was wrong," she quietly suddenly said, cutting him off, as she turned to face him, "I was really wrong." A small smile crossed her face as she let her eyes linger in his that danced with firelight.

"Well…," he said, an almost dismissive tone to his voice, "I'm sure you've heard some things that have been true. Everyone has their secrets."

"What's yours?" She leaned her head against the back of the sofa, open honesty shining through her eyes.

"Oh no—some secrets are not meant to be shared."

"We all have some like that I guess," she agreed, disappointment in her voice, sparking his curiosity again, "although, somehow, the ones we hope to keep forever, can so easily become common knowledge." A raw truth emanated on her voice, striking a cord within him.

"That happened to you didn't it?" He softly asked, turning his eyes from her face to the fire where her gaze lingered, remembering her "twisted" comment earlier. She simply nodded.

"Yeah, one afternoon my father tricked me." She said softly, sensing his confusion without even having to face him as she sighed deeply, almost nervously. "I have dysthymia. Chronic depression." A forced, almost embarrassed note rang on her voice, and she found no sense in mentioning the OCD. It too was apart of the depression.

"I never would have figured," he said, "you don't act like it."

"On a daily basis, I don't—medication takes care of that."

"Maybe you do need to go back to the city sooner than I'd thought then." He said concernedly.

"No Bruce, it's alright—I'm normal for another three days." She said, a silent laugh on the end of her words as he smiled at her.

"How long ago?" He asked caringly.

"About eleven years," she candidly answered, "one afternoon my father…," she paused, huffing silently, "my father…He's a psychiatrist—taught at the University here in Gotham for a time, and he desperately wanted a son. He got me instead. So right from the start, anything I did was never good enough," she shook her head, as though attempting to understand something she couldn't, "and then I majored in mechanical engineering at Swansea, and that just seemed to cement every opinion about me he had, despite my minor in psychology—his field of interest," she turned from the fire towards Bruce with a knowing, almost comical look to her face, "that's where the depression sprung from…his complete lack of approval and love for everything about me. And with my mother, who was no source of consolation…it was a hard way to grow up."

"Understandably so," he said, fighting back his childhood memories, "do you still see your father?"

"Oh no. An occasional communiqué, but I haven't seen him in three or four years I think."

"Really? He doesn't come visit you in Gotham now?"

"No…he's a psychiatrist himself—hence how he knew so much about Jonathon's work—but when he was here, he was here but just long enough to come to absolutely hate Gotham."

"Can't say I blame him." Bruce agreed, glad to hear her light laugh before sipping his wine.

"So what about you?" She asked, lowering her wine glass from her lips.

"About me what?" He asked, licking a drop of wine from his lips, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"You must have a story of some kind…secret or something…." She said knowingly, smiling openly at him.

"It's one that I don't readily share." He said, a pained note to his voice.

"Of course," she said, trying not to bristle, "after all, I'm not the best person to tell secrets to," she said, as she set her wine glass down on the table before falling back against the cushion, "then tell me that you at least share it with someone…no one deserves to keep it all locked inside. I know that now." She paused, as though deciding whether or not to continue. "It never ends well otherwise." Involuntarily her eyes fell on his as he sighed and shook his head, laughing silently.

"What a pair we make under one roof. You with dysthymia, and me with what you could call multiple personality disorder." She looked back at him in almost shock, a curious smile on her face.

"You what?" She asked, lightly, more curious than shocked. "No, wait…you don't have to tell me anymore," she said, hating that she had tried to pry, "you've told me enough."

"You cannot sit there and tell me you're not the slightest bit curious about what I just said." He said, a playfully accusing tone coloring his voice. She rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Fine then—yes I am curious to know what you meant, but if you wish to say nothing more I won't pry. But I must admit…the idea of you having an alter ego is pretty interesting. Makes one think…do you believe you're King of France or dress like Teddy Roosevelt—"

"A bat." He said almost silently, instantly knowing he'd taken one hell of a chance that he shouldn't have taken. She stopped and met his eyes, genuine surprise swirling around in her green depths.

"That's you?" She asked softly, admiration lacing her voice. She turned her eyes from his, putting Bruce on edge. "It fits…it makes sense." She said after a moment's pause.

"Really?" He asked dubiously. She nodded quickly.

"I read your parents were murdered by a nameless, faceless criminal; so it only makes sense that you—faceless—should seek to rid the world of other faceless criminals."

"I do what I can." He answered, a dark, deep tone to his voice.

"I think its great," she honestly answered, meeting a look in his eyes that clearly said 'you're crazy,' "in spending time at Arkham, I've come to see all the bent and unthinkable connections minds can make…and yes, technically I am crazy," she smiled and laughed silently, "and probably technically, you are too." He leaned further back against the couch, laying his head back against the cushion, rolling it over towards her, a smile on his face.

"Should we go commit ourselves at Arkham?" She laughed and rolled her head over to his to where their foreheads met.

"Now where's the fun in that?" They both laughed and shared a look between their contrasting eyes before he rolled his head to stare up at the ceiling.

What was she doing? Through the heat of the fire, the haze from the wine, the deep conversation—Ev really didn't care, but she knew it just felt right.

"No one, aside from Alfred, knows half the things about me that you know." He quietly said.

"Rather a vulnerable feeling isn't it?" She quickly asked, knowing what he was feeling. "Don't worry, Bruce—I about died when my trust was betrayed. I will never willingly put another person through that." She turned from facing him and lowered her gaze to the floor. Suddenly she seemed to grow quiet, reserved and pensive, just as she'd done that afternoon in the library, causing Bruce to slightly worry.

"Ev?" He asked gently, bringing a hand to gently stroke her left cheek. Slowly she turned towards him, a small, almost reluctant smile on her face.

"I trust you…more than I've ever trusted anybody," she said truthfully, a down note to her voice, "and it's comforting in the best way imaginable…yet discomforting at the same time." A silent disbelieving laugh came through on the end of her words.

He found no response as he smiled warmly down at her, wondering why she was suddenly so special as he let his hand trail down to her shoulder. Without thinking, she fell against him, into his arms, feeling his other arm instinctively wrap around her. He held her close, offering whatever reassurance and comfort he had to offer. Her face lay against his right shoulder, her nose brushing gently against his neck as she snuggled into him.

"For someone as you are," he softly said, "you talk about it so smoothly…it's refreshing actually. Knowing that someone can see through it to live normally." She pulled somewhat out of his embrace, a shocked look on her face.

"Bruce, my parents were not shot before my eyes—I can't even pretend to know what that does to a mind, and a heart," she paused before softly continuing, an insight on him dawning on her, "one of which, I don't know if you truly have."

"Not anymore, truthfully," he sharply, almost automatically answered, "so if you're seeking a way in, it won't work."

"How can someone who doesn't feel with their whole heart expect to be let into another's? Simple…."

"You don't." They both softly answered. She looked over at him.

"Sounds like we're both on the same page." She softly said.

"You're probably the only person who would willingly admit it."

"Oh I don't know—there are several who would kill to be on the same page as you. Wealth, charm, and tall, dark and handsome all rolled up in one nice, though secretly twisted package." She said lightly, laughter on her voice as he smiled borderline embarrassed, softly laughing.

"If only they knew." He said laughingly, the whole thing seemingly absurd to him now that he thought about it.

"Their loss." Ev simply said as he kept his gaze ahead, uncertain of what he'd see in her eyes. Somewhere out of the darkness of the house, a low chime tolling out the late hour broke their comfortable silence.

"Well what do you say to calling it a night?" He quietly suggested.

"I'd say that sounds great," she said, rising from the sofa as he did, "all this heavy, though much needed talk has taken a lot out of me."

"Doesn't look that way." He commented, an almost playful note on his voice. She laughed embarrassedly, nodding her head.

"I feel like it at any rate." She said, a yawn hinging on the end of her words as they left the library.

"I hope you sleep well." He said sincerely once they reached the top of the stairs.

"I'm sure I will—confession is usually good for the soul. I hope you sleep well too." She could not help but smile, meeting his eyes.

"Night Ev." He nodded politely, returning her smile before turning and heading down a hallway.

"Night Bruce."

* * *

well there it is. hopefully not too unbelievable, but it just seemed to work. post a review, comment, criticism, if you feel so inclined & thanks for stopping by! (next update should be sometime next week.) 


	9. Ch 9: Silently

i am so sorry for the long delay in updating! things just got really crazy all at once, but now i hope to be much more regular in posting chapters. so here we go with chapter 9. thanks to all who read & posted reviews!

disclaimer: nothing's changed. nothing is still mine.

**Chapter 9: Silently **

She hoped 5 am wasn't too early. But sleep just would not stay with her. So instead of forcing herself to sleep, she quietly left her room and took to exploring the darkened house.

The early morning light was casting elongated shadows as she walked down the silent corridor. It reminded her of something out of a haunted castle almost, yet she was no where near afraid. She came upon glass pane doors that opened up onto a balcony. Relieved to find them unlocked, she quickly slipped outside, the early morning chill already biting at her cheeks.

But this was worth it. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at the fading stars. She remembered the nights she and Malin would stargaze. She knew he hated it, but he only did it because she did. But looking up at the star studded sky had long been a personal comfort and friend to Evelyn, long before Malin.

"Morning Ev." She spun quickly around, startled beyond word, but relaxing at Bruce's warm, though sleepy smile.

"I'm sorry," she quickly rambled, "I didn't mean to wake you." Immediately she regretted saying anything, since after all they had slept in different wings of the house.

"Don't be," he said dismissively, walking towards her, open robe swaying in the chilly breeze, "sleep does not easily find me some nights; but once it does, I could sleep forever."

"Sounds great to me." She turned with a small laugh back towards the sky.

"I was up and heard doors opening. Figured Alfred was up doing something this early—I'm surprised it's you." He said softly, gently, stopping beside her.

"Looking at the stars was about the only consolation I could find to keep from contemplating suicide before medicine. Just knowing that while everyone around me had someone, there were stars—millions of miles a part—just as alone and empty as I felt." She simply said, hating how trite it sounded.

"How is it now?"

"With medicine, you mean?" She shrugged. "The emptiness starts to fill up, and the hopelessness that covers each day tends to fade away to the background, freeing my mind to focus on other things—principally work."

"I see," he nodded understandingly, "so what draws you here this morning?"

"Truthfully?" She asked almost embarrassedly. "Convincing myself this is real. It doesn't seem real."

"Why is that?" He asked, unable to let his eyes leave her. Silently she turned to face him and shook her head uncertainly before turning her eyes to the ground as though embarrassed.

Ev could find no words—too many feelings, most of which revolved around him at this point, filled her for her to find words. A strong, gentle hand fell around her right arm and she felt his arm encircle her waist, pulling her back against his chest. Instinctively she leaned her head back, new feelings washing over her.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he brought his head down to her neck, gently kissing her. Her eyes fell closed and she fought to keep a smile from her face, especially as she felt another warm kiss higher on her neck.

Without even thinking, she turned her head and met his eyes for a split second before feeling his lips against her own. Nothing demanding or wanting or expecting…just a feeling, an exploration of what could come. All in one moment, for them both, nothing was the same. As if suddenly realizing it, they pulled apart—both with flushed cheeks and seemingly at a loss for explanation.

"I shouldn't have done that." He suddenly, softly said.

"Probably not. No reason for us to be together." He nodded, unable to understand what had possessed him to kiss her—it just felt right for the moment. But now that it was over…it didn't make sense. But as they both stood there, sorting through what had just happened, neither made moves to pull out of their embrace.

xxxxxxxxx

He left her soon after that, making it a most awkward goodbye. And all day, as she explored around his house, the feel of his lips still lingered on hers. She found herself longing to feel his kiss again, but felt certain she wouldn't.

And proof enough was that, once again, Bruce had just disappeared. All Alfred would tell her was that Mr. Wayne had "business matters" to attend to. But on a Sunday afternoon, all that had done was fuel her curiosity.

Was he working on actual business…or Batman business? The latter of the two sounded far more interesting, and as she freely explored his grand mansion, borderline museum, of a home, she kept secretly hoping she would stumble upon his Bat-office.

But no such luck. Instead, she'd found a piano, pristinely tuned with a clear, reverberating sound to it. She couldn't resist it, so she spent the majority of the afternoon playing through the memorized music in her repertoire as well as some sheet music found in the bench.

Hours went by and she didn't even see Alfred, much less Bruce. And it was only as the room started to darken as the sun set did she even begin to seriously wonder where they were.

She drifted up from the piano bench and left the sitting room, wandering out in the hallway, looking and listening for any signs of life.

"Alfred?" It was a bit unnerving to hear her own voice echo so clearly in someone's home. She turned to her right. "Bruce?" But still no answer or anything. She sighed as she stepped back into the sitting room, deciding that someone would come find her sooner or later. She glanced back at the piano, her breath catching in her throat, jumping a step back.

"OH…Bruce you startled me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Where did you come from?"

"Pardon?" He looked at her, a confused smile on his face.

"Just now…I've been in here all afternoon, and just stepped out for a minute, and you were nowhere. And now here you are." He shrugged innocently, playfully. "Probably a hidden, secret passage somewhere…billionaires…," she said, walking over closer to him, "who knows—you could have been spying me all afternoon."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Oh, you just might." She raised a pointed finger and poked him in the chest.

"You shouldn't do that," he playfully, lightly warned, "I just might be ticklish." Her head flew back in laughter, and Bruce loved the way it echoed off the marble floors. Almost made the manor feel like a warm home once again.

"You…? Bruce Wayne…ticklish?" She asked through her laughter, unable to believe he actually suggested it.

"Alright, maybe _I'm_ not," he agreed laughingly, "are you?"

"Me? Well I'll just save you the trouble, and tell you I'm not." She turned from him, not trusting that surprisingly playful gleam in his brown eyes. His arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind, as he took to tickling her mercilessly.

"Bruce…NO!" Her shrieks of laughter and protest rang throughout the sitting room and she buckled her knees, sinking to the floor in hopes of stopping him. But he stayed right with her, letting him be pulled down by her. She fought against him, trying to pry his hands away, twisting around under his weight, trying to scoot away from him.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred's loud call made them both freeze. Bruce's head shot up, meeting Alfred's curious smile.

"Yes Alfred?" Bruce hesitantly asked, a note of almost undeterminable embarrassment on his voice.

"Just informing you both that dinner is served."

"Thank you Alfred." Bruce said as he quickly rose, before helping pull Ev to her feet.

"If you both don't mind, I'd like to freshen up just a bit. So I will join you in a few." She exchanged a most thankful look with Alfred before turning to Bruce with a warm look so tainted with embarrassment and mirth, before quietly exiting the sitting room.

"She's a special one, that one," Alfred commented, before turning to meet Bruce's playfully-glaring closed mouth smile, "you've not laughed or smiled so much in years."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Where had that Bruce Wayne come from? She would never have pegged him to do something as childish as tickle her. It was bewildering…refreshingly bewildering.

And all throughout dinner, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him to make him change. It was almost as if he'd found something this afternoon he thought he would never find. She couldn't peg it, and while she loved this newfound lightheartedness, she couldn't help but wonder.

Their dinner was spent mainly swapping stories of travels—she told stories from her life in Swansea and he shared bits of his odyssey over in China/Tibet. And all of it only furthered the deepening of their relationship. Just how deep it had gone—well after this morning, Ev didn't know for sure. But she knew every moment she spent around him was every moment in the future she hoped to still be with him.

Stomachs full of another scrumptious meal, heads beginning to lighten thanks to the merlot and eyes alight with laughter, they wound their way back towards the warm living room.

"I think, if I were to live here, I would gain three hundred pounds within a year. Alfred is a wonderful cook."

"Confession—he usually does not cook like this all the time. When there is company over, he feels the need to make something more than just the simple meals he makes daily."

"Even still—I would bet those 'simple meals' are still better than average. You're very lucky to have him. He seems like he's been a great friend and comfort over the years."

"He's been there ever since the day my parents were killed, and every day before that."

"Good—glad to hear you haven't been completely alone…however much you may have wished it. Sounds like Alfred has helped keep you grounded in your sanity."

"More than anyone will ever know." He said lightheartedly, a chuckle on the end of his words. Ev, too, couldn't help but laugh softly, reaching for her wine glass.

"By the way, I love your accent," he simply, suddenly said, "it sounds," he searched for the word, "foreign." She laughed quietly as she watched him shrug his shoulders almost embarrassedly.

"Well…that tends to happen when someone comes from a different country that is not your own. If you were from the UK, you'd sound this way too." That's when she saw it. The painting on the wall.

It couldn't have been slanted last night when they were in here…she surely would have seen it then. She swallowed and breathed hard, forcing her eyes back to Bruce, pleading with herself not to lose it in front to him.

"Ev? Is everything alright?" He watched her quickly meet his eyes before darting across the room and back again. "Is there something on the wall? Out the window?" He studied the wall she seemed to fixate on, unable to understand what it was.

"It's…um, something on the wall…actually." She forced herself to say, knowing now this would be the end of it all. What could a billionaire with an image to maintain want with a depressed OCD sufferer now?

"Something on the wall?" She nodded mutely.

"I'll…tell you in a minute." She held up a shaky finger as she moved determinedly across the room, and set about meticulously straightening the wall hanging. Bruce could only stare at her, his face blank, his eyes swirling with confusion.

"The chemical imbalance that caused the chronic depression has now manifested itself in a small case of obsessive compulsive disorder." She quietly said, her head downcast as she slowly crossed back around the sofa. "Seems my mind is just wired to have problems. When one route is closed with medicine, it finds another way to surface."

"Surely there is something they can do for that…."

"Not with a case as mild to nonexistent as mine, so they say. My obsessions aren't—what was their word?—'severe' enough to merit medicine." She shook her head laughingly. "Not yet, at least."

"So for right now, its crooked wall hangings?"

"Yes…and in times of extreme stress, the compulsions surface. But that's it. Relatively harmless actually, just bloody annoying."

"Most mental handicaps are, I find." She looked over and couldn't help but meet his knowing, downcast smile.

"That's right, I'm not drinking alone here." He shook his head, unable to stop smiling. He was finding she had that affect on him.

"So what do you say we move to a more frivolous topic?" He gently suggested, watching surprise register in her eyes for but a second. Wasn't he going to discard her…what with the depression _and_ the OCD…what could she possibly mean to him now?

"Sure…you mean like the weather, or our favorite colors, or past heartthrobs?"

"Ever been in love before?"

"Once…or so I thought," she paused, as though unable to believe she'd answered, a distant smile suddenly forming on her face, "twelve years ago I met him—Malin. Dr. Malin Blood."

"Dr. Blood…of medicine?"

"Sort of—he was apart of the psychiatry corps in the RAF. We met through my father. We were just friends for a good three years, until he cornered me, courtesy of my father, diagnosing my dysthymia. It took another nine months for my psyche to stabilize before our relationship took a much more intimate turn. Not even one month later we were engaged. But then suddenly, as things have a tendency to do, all was shot to hell," she shook her head, as though attempting to understand something she couldn't, "I guess I should have known better with an RAF serviceman. The aircraft he was aboard went down in a storm off the Irish coast, for reasons unknown." She trialed off, and Bruce found nothing to say. "Officially, its known as an unofficial accident—since no one can say what did go wrong. So now, it's completely forgotten about, the only remnant being the holes left by Malin and four others."

"And your…condition didn't worsen after his death?"

"No…well, the depression didn't. That's where the OCD came from though," she shook her head, almost embarrassed by earlier, "but I only kept up the medication and psychotherapy, because I knew it's what Malin would want. By that time, it didn't matter to me."

"So I have him to think for your sanity?" He asked lightheartedly, watching her smile ever so slightly.

"You have him to thank for keeping me alive." Ev still kept her gaze on the fire, as Bruce watched her, surprised to see no tears in her eyes. "Well after Malin," she turned to face him, "love has never played into my life—attraction and affection most certainly—but not love. Up until recently, it's been hard to see how it could ever exist," again she paused as though considering her words, "just when it seems things couldn't get any better, the world shatters around you."

"How true." Bruce couldn't help but agree—that one night he had been walking with his parents one minute, staring at their lifeless bodies the next.

"So, what about you? I've told of my past love…now it's your turn. So much for a frivolous topic," she trailed off for a second as though regretting saying it, "but insightful nonetheless."

"Exactly. But no, no love interest to speak of, well…just a childhood romance really. But she and I are just at opposite ends in our lives, so it doesn't seem to have much of a future of going anywhere," he trailed off, a downcast note to his voice, "actually, none of my relationships seem to be going anywhere."

"You know you don't mean that."

"I don't?" He asked her incredulously.

"You can't honestly tell me that over the past two days our relationship has gone nowhere. Come on—you know I'm not half the hellcat I appear, and I know you're not half the playboy you appear. You know more about me than my own father knows," she paused, fixing her eyes on his, "and I know enough about you to blackmail you for the rest of your natural life." Laughter followed her words, a most welcome sound to Bruce's ears. It was so infectious that he couldn't help but softly laugh as well—whether in relief, happiness or complete disbelief at the absurdity of it of all, he couldn't say. "Confession."

"Yes?"

"I haven't laughed this much in years." He laughed silently as his hand rose to her cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb. Her eyes fell longingly on his, silently begging him to do nothing more than just kiss her again. Never had she wanted anything more.

"So where does this leave us?" She quietly asked.

"I don't know…." It couldn't be love, could it? Evelyn didn't know…and yet their kiss from that morning still played sharply in her mind. Her eyes fell away from his as her head sunk under the weight of uncertainty, tainted with maddening, conflicting feelings.

He placed a hand under her chin, gently raising her head back up to his. She met his eyes, and found in something so simple what seemed the promise of a lifetime. Slowly she let her eyes close as she felt his lips gently against hers. Smoothly, lovingly their kiss continued unbroken, deepening as she willingly parted her lips.

How many years had it been since she'd ever felt anything so heartfelt…if ever? She leaned further back against the sofa, pulling him with her, only wanting him closer, unwilling to let go his close contact. His trim frame covered hers nicely, and wherever his hands roamed left behind a tingling trail. Slowly she pulled her lips from his, forcing herself to breathe, feeling her chest move against his.

"I thought there was no reason for us to be together…." He said, a lightness on his voice, as he watched a longing spark ignite in her eyes.

"How could we have been so blind?" She said in mock disbelief.

"Well…the saying does go 'blind as a bat.'" She laughed, throwing her head back against the sofa pillow in disbelief. Again she met with his dreamy smile and hugged him closer, feeling his arms tighten around her in response. He couldn't help but let his lips fall against her soft neck. Despite everything, she had burrowed her way into his heart…and never, willingly, did he want to part with her. Ev turned sharply, flooded with feelings, her lips locking against his in another mind blowing kiss.

Gently he rose off her, pulling her up by her hand firmly in his. They rose from the sofa and quickly wound their way up the stairs. An easy silence surrounded them both—words were useless now. He opened one of two double wooden doors and they quietly disappeared behind them. She glanced and saw a bed bathed in pale moonlight before falling back into his welcoming arms. Every touch, every kiss sent waves of feeling through Ev such as she had never felt before. Clothing was soon forgotten, and she fell back against the bed, pressed gently against him, welcoming him into her mind, heart and body.

* * *

story is now officially a romance...yay...i'm such a hopeless romantic at heart. hope it was worth the read and not too mushy. post a review, comment, constructive criticism if you want--they are always much appreciated. next update i'm hoping should be within the next week or two. thanks for stopping by!

p.s.if you're curious, i've a story entitled_ HMS Spearfish_(a drama, not romance, about a submarine in WWII) posted on fictionpress under the same pen name. check it out if'n ya want, post a review (its one the future of is uncertain). and if not, thanks for taking the time to read this!


	10. Ch 10: That next place

hello. chapter 10. thanks for the review & to those who read!

disclaimer: still owning nothing.

**Chapter 10: That next place **

It was raining. What could be more conducive to staying in bed? But then her eyes fell on Bruce, sleeping silently, half of his chest bared by the comforter.

She had to go with the latter of the two.

Of course she remembered last night. It almost ranked with the first night she spent with Malin…almost. But she now found it hard to believe she'd loved Malin in the same lifetime….simply because now, here she was, exactly where she knew she'd never be.

Ev sighed almost sadly—she was hopelessly, helplessly, reluctantly in love with this man beside her. But a lot of good it would do her. He led a dangerous double life and she was a screwed up nobody. Not much hope for a future there.

She sighed deeply, nuzzling against the cushy pillow and soft sheets, listening to the rain and sporadic thunder, trying not to think about their imminent goodbye. She felt him shift beside her and opened her eyes. Brown eyes were staring right back. She couldn't help but smile, feeling somewhat of a blush rush to her cheeks as she moved over against him, relaxing in his welcoming embrace.

"I shouldn't love you." She simply said, her face against his chest.

"I shouldn't either," he admitted, "too dangerous for you and you know so much about me—"

"And you about me."

"Sometimes secrets are the better choice." She raised her eyes to his and without thinking pressed her lips against his, as though it would be the last time. Easily he kissed her, gentleness and a sense of almost pleading passing through it.

"Even if we never speak again, it's enough to know that for one night, I felt loved." She admitted softly, snuggling back against his chest. Quickly he kissed her brow before tightening his arms around her. She moved closer in his embrace, secure in his arms.

"So why do we?" He softly asked. Her eyes drifted open.

"Maybe it's the one thing we want most but won't let ourselves have." She simply answered, a down note to her voice. He turned his head on the pillow and looked squarely at her, a genuinely questioning light in his eyes.

"You won't let yourself love or care?" She met his gaze, borderline panic and regret, even longing in her green eyes.

"No," she said softly, suddenly sitting up, her back to him, "it makes everything too complicated." She whispered, her voice strained with regret. She wrapped the discarded kimono around her and crossed her arms tightly around her stomach.

"But you want to—and you'd give anything to. If you could guarantee it wouldn't come back to ever hurt you." She looked sharply up at Bruce who was now sitting up.

"Since when did you become a psychiatrist?" She asked, a failed attempt at humor on her raw voice. He laughed silently, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I only know that because I know what its like— only to want to let someone know the real you, but you can't bring yourself to do it," he said solemnly, fighting to reign in his own inner demons, "some hurts of the past just run to deep."

"Exactly." She muttered distantly, almost in disbelief as he abruptly turned from her and slid into the dark blue robe at the foot of the bed. A silence fell between them, and neither could find words for it. Ev looked up from her crossed arms, biting her lip.

"Settled then," she definitively said, a hidden sadness to her words, as he walked towards her, "we don't love each other."

"No, we don't." Her eyes closed and a heavy sigh left her.

He walked up behind her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She suddenly turned around and fell into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm securely around her, bringing the other to rest tenderly against the back of her head.

"Thank you Bruce. For everything," She said softly before pulling back from his embrace, "it means more to me than you'll ever know." She said, offering a weak smile and attempting to put a lightness in her voice. He narrowed his eyes playfully, an amused smile filling out his handsome face.

"You stole my line." She could not help but laugh as he stepped back from her, walking over to the door. "Meet you downstairs for breakfast in half an hour? And then we'll get you a cab back to the city."

"Oh thank you, but today is Monday and I'm late for work as it is." She quickly said, watching some disappointment creep to his eyes.

"Alright—you dress, I'll call you a cab, then I'll dress and then we'll meet downstairs." She nodded, meeting his smile before he turned and left with a soft click of the door handle.

Ev could kick herself for ending things with Bruce—nothing had ever felt so right, so meaningful even. And now she was willingly throwing it all away the next morning. But at least he agreed—it went both ways. In the end, this was the better move for them both.

She dressed in double quick time, seeing as how she was already an hour late for work and quickly flew downstairs, smiling only as she saw Bruce already waiting for her. Together they walked onto the porch, and sure enough, the cab was there, ready and waiting.

"So this is the end then?" She casually asked.

"It needs to be." He said, hiding the forced tone to his voice. She nodded understandingly.

"Right then," she offered him a quick smile before turning away, "thank you again," she called out, turning back around a few feet from him, "and cheerio." He returned her loose wave as she opened the cab door.

"See you around, Ev." The cab door snapped closed and he watched as it carried her back to the city. It couldn't go on—it would never work between them. This was the only reasonable solution, however much it was tearing at his heart. Or what was left of it.

Bruce closed the heavy set door behind him, walking listlessly through the entryway, spotting Alfred out of the corner of his eye, who looked as though he might slap him.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked, arching an eyebrow curiously, inviting the person closest to him to give his honest comment.

"It doesn't need to be anything," he wisely said, "now if you'll excuse me sir, breakfast needs attending to." Bruce could only glance blankly ahead as Alfred disappeared to the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxx

It would have only raised suspicions had Evelyn Werren suddenly been declared criminally insane. Even the fact of her OCD wouldn't have been enough to justify it. And of course there had been that ever puzzling message from the Boss, strictly stating she was not to be harmed.

Well, blackening her memory and leaving her to fend for herself wasn't doing anybody any harm.

And if she didn't turn up for work, or if she turned up dead, Crane would pay all the proper respects—playing both the role of admiring colleague and assumed love interest. It could only serve to better favor his image, his cover up.

He locked his office door behind him, heading towards the front office. Suddenly Evelyn's 5'8", small curved figure rounded a corner in the shadowy hallway. He smirked with dark pride and disbelief—how convenient for her, convenient and lucky.

"Good morning Evelyn," Jonathon greeted, a smile on his slender face, "feeling better I trust?"

"Better, Jonathon?" She asked curiously, watching his brows crease almost worriedly.

"Why yes my dear, on Friday you were complaining about a most stubborn headache."

"Oh yes," she said shakily, quickly nodding and offering a smile, "I'm feeling much better thank you."

"Wonderful," he said, a lack

of true caring to his tone as he offered her a small, seemingly forced smile, "and of your tardiness this morning?" She felt a blush involuntarily rise to her cheeks. 

"I just over slept," she said, hoping it sounded sincere enough, "my anti-depressant medication tends to make me drowsy." She quickly lied.

"Do you suffer from depression?" He asked, an interest in his voice.

"You didn't know that already?" She calmly asked.

"No, I don't make it a habit to research the mental health of my research assistants," he nonchalantly answered, choosing to keep his knowledge about her OCD secret for now, "how long?"

"Several years. It went untreated for a good many years, but now medicine takes care of it."

"Bipolar? Chronic? Psychotic?"

"Chronic…dysthymia." He nodded understandingly, now seeing the connections between that and her OCD. If only he'd known all that sooner….

"Well I never would have known it if you hadn't said something," he said, a lack of true care on his voice, as she nodded, a skeptical look in her green eyes. "Well, let's begin shall we?"

* * *

hope you enjoyed. please leave a review if'n ya wants, and if not, thanks for stopping by! next chapter hopefully up in the next week or two.  



	11. Ch 11: Day after day

hello all. short chapter has allowed me to post it earlier than originally thought. thanks to all those who read & keep reading & for the reviews!

disclaimer: nothing is mine. (and certainly not the song by Badfinger)

**Chapter 11: Day after day **

_I remember finding out about you._

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday.

_Everyday my mind is all around you._

They'd ended it. One weekend was all they could afford.

_Looking out from my lonely room,_

_Day after day._

_Bring it home, make it soon._

_I give my love to you._

The train door groaned shut behind Ev as she walked on to Arkham. Mentally she ran through her schedule of the day—today was too busy a day to spare a moment, yet still her stray thoughts wouldn't stop.

_I remember holding you while you sleep._

Every morning, same routine—glass of orange juice, twenty pushups, shower and dress, then head to Wayne tower. It was plain enough, and that suited Bruce—it didn't matter much to him, or so he told himself.

_Everyday I feel the tears that you weep._

The sandwich from the small café around the corner was decent enough Ev thought. She was sure she could find something better if she really wanted, but she really didn't.

_Looking out of my lonely gloom,_

_Day after day._

_Bring it home, make it soon,_

_I give my love to you._

Small robberies, break-ins—tragedies in of themselves, but hardly requiring Batman's attention. He slumped into the chair in the cave after making rounds and spun around to face the dark cavern. What he wouldn't give to just bury himself away down here, ignoring the existence of the world, especially if it meant never having met Ev.

_I remember finding out about you._

Ev set the pill on her tongue, quickly chasing it down with water. Her doctor had advised her to take two if she ever felt the need. Without thinking, she popped a second one, quickly downing it. With a new hole in her life, she felt one week of increased dosage should fill it and then she could move on, free from her unwanted longing.

_Everyday my mind is all around you._

Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.

_Looking out of my lonely gloom._

Certainly patrolling at night was helping—it was pure business, and then sleeping during the day. No time to hardly eat, much less think.

_Day after day._

She tossed in bed at night—if he was half as crazy as she, then why hadn't she seen him, or at least heard something about him even though it was over?

_Bring it home, make it soon. _

This was foolish and ridiculous—end or no end, he had not even heard a word about her.

_I give my love to you._

Despite it all, call it an obsession—they had to meet.

* * *

a tad predictable, i know, i know...but i'm a hopeless romantic at heart...can't leave things too miserable for too long. please post a review if'n ya wants & if not, thanks again for stopping by! chapter 12 hopefully up ina week or two. 


	12. Ch 12: That's all I ask of you

here goes with chapter 12. thanks for the reviews & to all those who have stuck with the story!

disclaimer: again, rien n'est pas la mienne. (except for a terrible circuits textbook & one fat black cat)

**Chapter 12: That's all I ask of you**

_Cold Mountain_, by Charles Frazier. Ev couldn't say she'd read it since she picked it out of Malin's desk seven years ago. And she couldn't even be certain why she picked it up just now...

But as she thumbed through the well-read, annotated pages, it was almost a source of comfort. As if knowing Malin was close by.

"It is amazing what love could do to someone and their likeliness to forgive another." She sniffed back a tear as she read through the quote and several others. Just then a loose scrap of what appeared to be paper slipped out from between the pages and she quickly turned it over, a smile spreading across her face.

It was a picture from the weekend they spent at his parents' during the summer. One of his parents must have taken it, since both she and Malin were in the picture. They were standing with their foreheads together, as if having a staring contest, but the small smiles on their faces were indicative of something much deeper.

She had no pictures of Malin in her apartment now, and seeing him in this picture, for the first time in seven years, was almost welcome. God, how she wished he was still alive. Especially now that she'd given up on ever finding love by ending it with the one man there was actually a chance with.

But no matter now…the past was the past, she reasoned. And that's where it belonged—in the past.

Soon gentle strains of Bach, Alexander and Faber were floating through her apartment. Of all the things she owned, she valued her piano to be the most prized possession. Maybe because it was the only real skill she had.

She'd never been particularly smart and she had no real 'trade' to speak of. But she could play to the piano…anybody could afternineteen years.

She rediscovered it about the time medicinally-induced feelings came into her life, and therefore she used the soothing playing of the piano to attempt to make feelings more real. It worked most of the time.

Her hands froze over the keys as a gentle knocking sounded on her door. A visitor? Oh good Lord.

She flew off the bench, straightening her glasses, hating the stacks of paper spotting the living room and her casual, sloppy state.

She opened the door and stood rooted to her spot, just barely able to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest or her jaw dropping open from surprise. Bruce always looked so suave, even in simple khaki trousers and a dark blue shirt, offset by his black overcoat.

"I didn't mean to stop the piano playing. It was lovely."

"How do you know it was me?" She cast him a playfully questioning smile.

"Too many missed notes to be professional."

"I didn't make _that_ many mistakes," she laughed mock-angry, "how long have you been out here?"

"Five…ten minutes. I was enjoying hearing you play." He smiled warmly, watching her blush under his compliment.

"Well, you'd better come in before the neighbors start to gossip too much more."

"Although won't it create more gossip by my actually coming in?" He casually questioned as she closed the door behind him.

"Only if you or I was married." She said dismissively before realizing she'd said it. She watched a small smile light across his handsome face before his gaze narrowed.

"I didn't know you wore contacts." Suddenly she felt her glasses grow to three times their original size.

"Yes well," she said, instinctively touching the thin rim, "I'm just a girl with many hidden secrets Mr. Wayne."

"Don't call me that," he scolded lightly, "makes me feel so old." A note of disappointment seemed to hinge on his voice.

"Well I can't call you anything more intimate…seeing as how we are not on intimate terms."

"That's right...no attachments." He nodded

"No attachments." Her tone held the same dejected quality as his. She trained her eyes to the floor not caring where his gaze was. And suddenly it seemed like it was the end all over again. "But," shequickly said, forcing some lightness to her voice, "there's no reason why you and I still cannot talk like friends." Her eyes met his and saw a mere hint at happiness, a smile of approval. "Well welcome to my flat," she said stepping back and opening her arms, as though showing off the room, before letting them fallto her side, "such that it is."

"I didn't come here to judge," he said knowingly, shaking his head, "I could have done that long before now. I just came by to see how you were…how things had been."

"You are so sweet," she quickly said, "for someone…as you are," she added watching him nod, a smile on his face that said he couldn't believe this exchange was actually taking place. "Please, have a seat—let me get you some tea…oh wait, Americans—how about water or something."

"Just water is fine." He answered, shedding his coat just now noticing Ev wearing a loose black skirt and a cambric forest green shirt. Her brown curls were pulled back with a clip, but a few had broken loose and fell lazily around her face. In Bruce's eyes she'd never looked better—it seemed as though there was this light around her today. She seemed almost…happy.

"You're beautiful." He said, meeting her eyes as she entered the room with a glass of water. The smile fell from her face, replaced by a curious, playful grimace.

"Where did that come from?" She asked lightly, walking up to him, "no matter," she quickly said, a self-scolding tone to her voice, "what I should have said was thank you. So, thank you." She said, settling on the couch next to him. He laughed softly.

"You are the most exceptional…different woman I have ever met," he said, a truthful, mock-annoyed note on his voice, "but today you seem…almost radiant." She shook her head, indifferently, dismissively.

"A double dose of medicinally-induced feelings can do that," she lightly admitted, before looking away almost ashamedly, "but I've too many thoughts and feelings to know what to do with them all," she said truthfully, "they just make me…I don't know…feel like flying or something." A down note mixed with lightness and laughter hinged on her words.

"Could it be happiness?" He gently questioned.

"It could be," she answered slowly, turning to face him, "it's been so long, I can't quite remember what it feels like." She said, almost wistfully.

"You and me both," he agreed before looking out over at the strict stacks of papers organized on the floor, "so what were you working on before the piano and I completely tore you away from it?"

"Its nothing important—Jonathon is appearing in court tomorrow to give expert testimony, and I am researching past cases like it," she said, surveying the piles of folder and loose papers, "but I've already found a file full of useful information." She smirked triumphantly.

"Sounds like its all going well."

"Smooth enough. How about yourself? You seem kind of lost." She said, turning back to his face, his eyes still lingered on the floor.

"Things are well enough," he admitted, "its still taking some getting used to—to wrap your mind around the paradox of reading about yourself on page one of the paper being this shadowy figure half the city is terrified of, and then page two, there you are again, being respected by other prominent citizens."

"You have to give it time, Bruce," she said comfortingly, "I mean, it is…odd…and a slightly unnerving time when suddenly this man wearing a cape, acting like a bat stops a few criminals. People don't get all the facts, and it's still fairly new." She said, an almost motherly tone to her voice. "What else? There seems to be more than that…." She said knowingly, studying his face.

"Not much more," he answered, an empty tone to his voice, "you don't need to be burdened with the many issues in my life." He said caringly.

"That's why we work well together," she suddenly said, meeting his surprised gaze, "well we do—both of our issues stem from our parents. Granted they are both very different in every aspect from cause to diagnosis, but we've both been hurt…and for some reason, we both take comfort in that." He looked over at her, as though unable to believe he'd found someone talking so candidly about everything in her life, in his life. "And we both have methods of coping with our issues, which the other doesn't mind—you have your…demonic therapy; and I have my drugs."

"You make us sound like great people." He said laughingly, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Her laughter soon mixed with his and she rolled her head against the couch cushion to face him.

"You have the nicest eyes." She suddenly said, feeling herself wanting to fall away in them.

"Now it's my turn to ask," he asked, a lightly pointed edge to his voice as he raised a hand to her face, brushing aside a loose curl, "where did that come from?"

"I just felt like it." She answered, watching his eyes fill with surprise, as she knew he most likely wasn't expecting an answer, but a kiss. He seemed to move somewhat closer to her, and quickly she hopped off the sofa, hearing 'no attachments' running through her head and fighting to make herself believe it true.

"Where you going?"

"To find my water bottle—I'm thirsty." She lamely tossed over her shoulder as she hunted around the stacks on her floor for it. She bent over to pick it up, and Bruce's eyes involuntarily fell on the revealed gap between her skirt and shirt. Silently he rose off the couch and moved behind her, wrapping his hand around her hip.

"Aren't you freezing in this thin shirt?" She leaned sideways against him and into his other arm as she looked at him mischievously, eagerly welcoming his close proximity, suddenly damning 'no attachments' to hell.

"I'm warm now," she softly said before meeting his eyes, "could be warmer." Her lips found his without even trying. Everything between them felt so natural. Never before had she guessed she would find anything like this. And now here it was, here he was, holding her close again, exploring her mouth just as eagerly as she explored his.

How they could ever fool themselves into thinking there was nothing between them was beyond her, especially as she felt his hold around her tighten and their kiss take on a more longing timbre.

xxxxxxxxx

Good Lord, morning. She stared up at the ceiling from her mess of tangled bed sheets and Bruce's arms. The night had ended much too soon. Everything they had promised each other a week ago now meant nothing…and yet they were now right back at the same place they had been.

Gently she rolled back over, facing him and snuggling against the pillow and him. Why spoil the moment with thoughts of the dreaded future?

"Shit." That soft, yet incessant knocking at her door just wouldn't go away. Carefully, so as to not wake Bruce, she slid out from under the covers quickly grabbing her black skirt, and the nearest shirt, which happened to be his. She lightly ran to the door, hastily fastening the buttons.

"Yes?" She asked, raking a through her hair as she opened the door.

"Sorry to disturb you Miss Werren," the building groundskeeper said apologetically, "but I was handed this letter and told to deliver it to you immediately."

"Who delivered it?" She asked curiously, reaching for the offered letter.

"Thegentelman didn't give a name, but said it was urgent that you promptly receive it and follow its instructions."

"Thanks Mr. Hennessey." She said warmly smiling at the older man.

"Good day Miss Werren." She closed the door, scanning the envelope for a return address or anything. But nothing. She sat on the back of the sofa, tearing into the letter, pouring over it.

"So what's the news?" Bruce gently, suddenly asked, walking over to her.

"It's from my father," she said in disbelief not even looking up, as Bruce stood over her shoulder, "he says Henri told him Gotham's time has come…and that I'm to board the first plane for London I can."

"Henri?"

"Old friend of the family's. His wife was killed about twenty some-odd years ago and he took off for Tibet or somewhere. Haven't seen him since, but my father and he stay in close contact."

"The last name wouldn't be Ducard…would it?" Bruce stiffly asked.

"Yes…," surprise hinged on her voice as she looked up at him curiously, "you know him too?"

"Yes I know him….personally knew him." He said distractedly as he took to reading the letter.

"What? Does the letter mean more to you than to me? I don't understand a connection…what do Henri's words matter to you?" Bruce's eyes shot up from the letter to hers.

"Ev I need my shirt back," he calmly said, "I need to go."

"What? But why?" She stuttered, dropping the letter watching him return with her shirt.

"I have work I have to do," he vaguely answered, sliding into his shirt, hastily working at the buttons, trying to sort through the letter's warnings, "but Ev, in all seriousness, you should do as your father says and leave Gotham."

"No," she said sternly, not believing what she was hearing, "I can't just leave Gotham on my father's word—he couldn't be telling the truth—I don't understand."

"Ev your father has excellent reasons for telling you to leave," he shrugged into his coat, watching her stare blankly, confusedly ahead, "trust him this once…and trust this is what's best for you." She found she couldn't argue with the almost pleading note in his voice. She nodded, slowly, reluctantly.

"Very well." She felt on the verge of tears…that or punching someone.

"Don't look so down," he stepped up to her, placing a hand under her chin and raising her face to his, "you'll know soon enough why we wanted you to leave, and you'll be glad for it."

"I can't imagine why." She answered downheartedly. He smiled reassuringly as she stepped into his arms, pressing her face tight against his neck. Gently he brushed a kiss across her forehead, some voice whispering it would be the last time. "Goodbye Bruce." She whispered, pulling back from him and breathing deep.

"Goodbye Evelyn." One last glance and he turned from her, the door closing softly in his wake. She bit her lip and stared at the door.

She never had any intentions of leaving Gotham…even when she promised Bruce she would. It had ripped through her heart to lie to him, but she couldn't very well argue with him…not now at least. Not when something in her father's letter had clearly set him on edge—something that made Batman start to overcome Bruce Wayne.

She ran her hands uncertainly through her disheveled curls and headed for the shower. Whatever it was…she couldn't sort it out, at least not now and not on her own. She would talk to Bruce later on…but right now, she decided to head back to Arkham. She still had a job to do after all.

* * *

oh yay. hopefully not over cliched or mushy. (although it is valentine's day...but still). anywho, please post a review if you want & if not, thanks for stopping by! tune in in a week or two ("same bat time, same bat channel") for next chapter (nearing the end...only 3 more chapters & epilogue left!) 


	13. Ch 13: Split the night

here we go with chapter 13. thanks to reviewers & those who read! just as a warning, this part of the story deviates slighty from the movie (you'll know where), but it seems to work, so i hope the change can be forgiven.

disclaimer: yep, you guessed it, i still own nothing more than this rotten circuits textbook.

**Chapter 13: Split the night **

Jonathon's last research assistant had been a horrible organizer. Every time Ev went to find something in the file cabinet against the wall of her office, nothing was ever where the labels indicated.

She swore that one weekend soon she would come up here and sort through it all to make her life easier. Things were complicated enough without having a file cabinet full of important files in disarray.

Arkham was unusually quiet, even for 8:59 pm. Usually at least there were some sounds from Jonathon's office or the front office or others scurrying about. But Evelyn hadn't seen Jonathon in the hours she'd been there and she tried not to let that concern her. But in the month Ev had been at Arkham, Jonathon had yet to miss a day or be late...or not work late into the evening.

She sighed, suddenly chiding herself. What business of hers was Jonathon's anyway? It wasn't like there was anything between them…or not anymore at least. She'd told herself at one time she could love Jonathon…but they were just friends, and now that Bruce had come into her life…. But right now, her chaotic love life was not what she needed to be focusing on.

She breathed deep, her fingers continuing to skim across the file folder tabs and contents.

A door slam echoed out of the silence of the corridor, making the breath catch in her throat. Jonathon perhaps? She abandoned her file cabinet search and moved to the doorway, curiously glancing down the hallway.

Sure enough…he was walking down the corridor, a wide-eyed, almost frenzied look haunting his entrancing eyes. And he walked with such a cautious air, as though just now seeing things for a first time. But what really struck Evelyn was the blank, yet wickedly calculating stare on Jonathon's face.

"Jonathon?" He cast his sharp eyes to hers, focusing intently as though reading her soul or trying to place her under a spell. Those few moments felt like eternities to Evelyn, as all she could do was swallow hard and fight to keep breathing.

His gaze was borderline terrifying, as though giving a hint at the power he held within him. And then, only then did Evelyn realize it—this was not the same man. The Jonathon Crane she knew no longer existed. This man—whoever he was—was something else entirely different.

Without a sound he bolted through the nearest door, the room that held Arkham inmate's personal belongings. Ev took off at a run after him, morbidly curious to know what he was up to. She flung the door open and quickly started scanning the room for any glimpse of him…wherever he might have been amongst the shelves.

She heard it behind her, the rushed footsteps, the rustling of cloth, the rapid breaths. She spun around to see the door closing in the wake of a person on the run. She flung the door open and rushed back out in the hallway, only to hear the slam at the end of the hallway.

Damn it. She had not even thought to check behind the door for him. And sure enough, he snuck out around her and bolted, not even giving her time to catch a glimpse of him.

Well whoever this new Jonathon Crane was…he wasn't a fool, and he wasn't one to suffer fools like her either.

Quickly she grabbed her coat and bag, and flew down the stairs to the patient floors, hoping to find some answers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Police were pouring onto the island by the time Ev left Arkham…it was all a bit frightening actually. Evelyn now stared out the cab window, watching the passing brigades.

All she was trying to do was get off the island and go home. All the Arkham inmates had been released, and the dead calm had been completely unnerving. And after her run-in with Jonathon, she figured it was high time she left, and leave the rounding up of inmates to the police.

"You know what," she said, tossing the cabbie some money, "I'll just walk across the bridge and catch the train or a cab from there…this waiting is unbearable." She flew out of the cab before the cabbie could attempt to talk her out of it. Ev walked close to the railing, observing the passing police regiments with profound interest. Surely this couldn't be leading to anything that her father and Henri had wanted her to leave for…could it?

"Excuse me, miss," a man in uniform ran up to her as she neared the police car barricade, "we're raising the bridges…did you just come from the Narrows?"

"I work at Arkham…all the inmates have been released. I left because it was unsafe."

"You have good timing," the cop agreed, a relieved smile on his face, "well, then go on and keep away from Arkham until we let you know."

"Thank you." She smiled at the cop before wandering off, and turning around to look back at the island. It looked frightening at night…the shadows from the dim lights almost made it seem alive. As though it had a menacing face capable of so many dark things. She shuddered in the brisk night breeze, a hint of fear passing through her as well.

"What are you doing here!" A rough, deep voice commanded, a gloved hand wrapping tightly around her arm. She met those eyes and froze. She couldn't scream, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

"I…I couldn't…"

The little minx had lied…and he, the fool, the _idiot_, had believed her. "B—" He roughly turned her around, pressing her back against his hard chest, clamping a hand over her mouth. Her protests now were nothing but muffled sounds, especially as he pulled his hand back, leaving a thick piece of tape in its place. Her eyes were on fire as she continued to scream muddled words.

"Batman?" A cop tentatively questioned, turning around curiously. "What are you doing?" The cop broke out in a worried run, concern creasing his brow as he saw the struggling woman.

"This woman was Dr. Crane's accomplice at Arkham—his assistant." The cop's eyes widened as Batman threw her ID badge from around her neck at him.

"It's a safe bet she knows everything, or close to it, about this operation," the cop said, his eyes lightening, "thanks Batman—without you, we never would have caught her. And she may be the key to this whole thing, especially since he's now gone loco." Ev's strugglesfaded as those words sunk in, unwilling to believe it true. Batman handed her over to the cop, who instantly clapped her in handcuffs. Her eyes locked with his, swirling with every emotion.

His eyes were nothing. With a silent whoosh of his cape he had disappeared back in the shadows, and suddenly Ev felt her world collapsing in around her.

She stared lethargically ahead as she was lead to a black and white car and shoved in the back seat, still cuffed and taped. Faintly she could hear that cop reporting the incident, and she sighed, playing through the events in her head that had all happened so suddenly.

There was nothing in his eyes. No hint of the man she knew anywhere. And that thought in of itself terrified her. And then hearing that tidbit about Jonathon from the cop…and remembering meeting him earlier….

She threw her head back against the seat, willing to kill for a straight answer from anyone. The roar and revving of an engine caught her attention and she sharply sat up just in time to see a black…tank-like-car jet across the river.

Batman, no doubt.

* * *

well that's all i got for now. (i'm sorry to disappoint you KHSsSoccerGurl, but i just couldn't find a way for jonathon to find out about the relationship). please post a review if you wish, and if not, thanks again for stopping by! next chapter (second to last one) should be up in a week or two. 

and this may be too early to be asking, but does anyone have any thoughts about sequel? i've an outline all typed out, but don't know how a squel could potentially go over, so i'm just looking for general feedback (but i guess you'll need the ending to know if a sequel is the best idea, but only two more chapters & an epilogue left.)


	14. Ch 14: The taste of your lips

yay for having a relatively slow weekend, as that'll let me finish up this story. last two chapters now posted! thank you for the reviews & to all those who have read & stuck with this story. it means a lot.

hope you enjoy these last two!

disclaimer: nothing is still mine ( i supposed i can't even claim the circuits book since i didn't write it, even though i paid an arm & a leg for it)

**Chapter 14: The taste of your lips **

Prison wasn't so bad. After all, it had only been one day. Ev had been pacing the small cell, not even caring to stop her compulsion, even though she wasn't obsessing…too much.

20-30 years. Convicted all on her ID badge and her true lack of knowledge about any 'secret plans'. No trial, no nothing. Just an insanely large bail that no one in their right mind would pay.

So she'd been resigning herself to it. What else could she do? No one to call….which actually made it work since no one would miss her for the next 20 to 30 years.

Of course she'd thought of Bruce. But then again…Bruce, as Batman, had been the one to throw her in jail to begin with. And that last look in his eyes burned in her memory—just a blind rage at the world. But why throw her in jail…why not just let her go? She couldn't figure it out and it was gnawing away at her.

Perhaps that lack of understanding was what had caused her earlier outburst. As soon as she'd been freed from handcuffs the first time around, she had, without fully realizing it, attacked a guard…not that she'd actually done any damage. Well that had only resulted in a higher bail, no daily release from her cell, and constant time in handcuffs.

At least they gave her a cell with a view. If she pressed close enough to the bars, she could almost see the activity on the main level. And Ev hated it—every inch of it.

And soon enough, without medication, the dysthymia would set back in and she'd hate herself. In 20 to 30 years, the suicidal tendencies she'd been warned about could be a strong reality.

She'd always heard that instead of habilitation, prisons specialized in irreversible, life changing downslides. She sighed deeply, almost terrified, as she realized she would be no exception.

Ev turned at the sudden sound of the big door at the end of the block grinding open.

"Werren, Evelyn." A burly guard called gruffly as she looked up, dark surprise, wariness, and resentment in her fixed gaze. "You've a meeting." The guard undid the lock as the cell door slid open. Almost reluctantly, she walked towards the guard, who immediately wrapped a hand tightly around her upper arm.

The big door groaned to a sealed shut behind them as the guard kept his death grip and death glare fixed on her.

"Wait here." He pulled open the door to a small barren room containing only a table and two chairs. It looked like a scene out of any police movie, and she began to wonder what she had been dragged here for. A more rigorous investigation of the real research done at Arkham? Prying for information on Jonathon Crane? Or was it only to reveal a more harsh punishment?

Again, compulsively, she'd taken to pacing the floor, her cuffed hands hanging limply in front of her. No sooner had the soft click of the door handle reached her ears did she spin around, most eager to see her visitor. In one moment, every defense fell, and she honestly didn't know what to think. She knew those eyes all too well.

"You look terrible." Bruce commented caringly. She lifted her stone gaze to him, unsure what to say.

"I'm surprised you care." She said coldly, not knowing what to think about the man before her—remembering the look in his eyes that night.

"Don't start that again. I wouldn't be here if I didn't." He scolded. She huffed darkly at the absurdity of it.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be in jail if you did." She said pointedly.

"You wouldn't be, if I didn't." She shook her head, staring at him expectantly.

"Enough," she said, her voice sharp, "why did you put me here? You know I'm not involved."

"I didn't put you here," he firmly said, "if you had just left—as you promised me you would—it would never have been an issue." He met her eyes, disappointment lingering in his.

"Yes, well," she said dismissively, turning from his burning gaze, "can't go anywhere now, can I?" She raised her cuffed hands.

"Actually, you can." He said softly, a lightness in his voice as he met her confused gaze. "You made bail." A softened expression still mixed with confusion and uncertainty spread across her worn face.

"But why? You stuck me—" she paused, reconsidering her words, not willing to loop the conversation, "I was stuck in here, so why would you release me?"

"It was the only way to keep you safe at the time."

"Safe? Putting me in jail?" She questioned pointedly.

"Safe from what your father warned you about," Bruce said scolding, "you should have left Gotham…and not lied." She went to cross her arms, but found the handcuffs to be such a hindrance. She turned around and faced that expecting look in his dark eyes. She sighed, staring down at the floor. Suddenly she found herself pacing small circles before realizing it.

"Stop it Evelyn," she hissed under her breath, sighing deeply before turning back to Bruce, fighting to keep her feet firmly in place, "you're waiting for an apology aren't you…," she said weakly, "I know…I shouldn't have lied. But I couldn't leave, and I didn't want to leave."

"Rather selfish isn't it?"

"Oh and you're not," she spat back, "you wanted me gone too…conveniently enough after we spent that second night together. You didn't know what the letter was about…but it was asking me to leave, so you supported it…just so I wouldn't be in your life any more…mucking up your thoughts." She trailed off downheartedly as Bruce looked at her in disbelief.

"What ever made you think that?"

"Just how…one night you were open and forthcoming, and then we ended everything. Yet you showed back up—not that I regret it in the slightest—and suddenly everything is so vague," she paused, trying to understand what she herself was saying, "I didn't feel like I knew you any more that morning."

"I couldn't be sure either," he admitted almost regretfully, "I knew what your father's friend was capable—or actually, I didn't, and that's what had me worried….I knew of his ideas of societies deserving justice. And I couldn't help but feel that was what the letter was warning you of. Sure enough, he came and attempted to destroy Gotham. That's why he wanted you out of the city."

"My father?" Ev sharply questioned.

"Henri Ducard was actually Ra's Al Ghul." She knew that name—the guards had even filled her on the water vaporizer, the subway train wreck, the charred, though somehow identifiable, remains.

"You lie." She spat.

"I wish to God I wasn't," he said, his voice strained, "he was my mentor—saved me from myself. But we had a falling out—I saved his life and left him with a rural Chinese family, believing he would disappear. I was wrong—he came back and he died because of it." Suddenly she looked up at Bruce in disbelief.

"You didn't…did you?" She asked, her voice threatening to break as she swallowed nervously.

"No," he shook his head solemnly, "but I didn't save him." She slumped into a chair, her trembling breaths filling the air, unable to believe her father had connections to such a man. That she had connections to such a man. No wonder she was so screwed up to begin with.

Bruce moved silently behind her, resting his hands comfortingly on her shoulders, offering her what comfort he could. He wasn't about to apologize for whatever reason—his actions had been justified as the right thing to do for the greater good. A simple utilitarian principal, and if Ev would hate him for the rest of her natural life for it…so be it.

"Why do we keep doing this?" She suddenly softly asked, a genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Doing what?"

"Telling ourselves it's the end, then coming back together again?"

"Well we didn't officially end it a second time," he gently suggested, as he leaned against the table edge, meeting her eyes, "or maybe we don't want to believe that I love you." He heard himself say as her head questioningly shot up.

"And that…what?…I love you?" She gently asked in return, the answer written deep in her eyes.

"Possibly." He said indifferently. She shook her head, smiling uncertainly. Before she knew it, her lips were against his, emotion of all sorts pouring between them. This had to be it—had to be real. What else could it be? She pulled her lips back and leaned against him, unable to imagine not having seen him.

"Don't get too comfortable—you need to leave Gotham pretty soon." He suddenly said, catching her by surprise. She looked up at him questioningly, amusement hidden in her eyes.

"Wait…if Ra's Al Ghul is dead, why must I still leave Gotham?" She asked, eyeing him wearily, beginning to doubt his sincerity all over again.

"Jonathon Crane escaped that night. You're the only contact we know he has."

"Then without doubt I'll leave Gotham."

"Good girl." He smiled as they headed for the door.

"But could you get them to remove the handcuffs? I promise not to hit any more guards."

* * *

onwards to next chapter & epilogue... 


	15. Ch 15: Leaving on a jet plane

**Chapter 15: Leaving on a jet plane **

Rain hammered the sidewalk in such thick sheets, Evelyn doubted the pilot would be able to see for takeoff. She just hoped not too many flights would be canceled, thereby making the airport a hectic mess.

She had a 6:17 flight straight through to Heathrow, for which she was so thankful. She needed to leave Gotham before anything else could happen. Whether it was seeing Bruce again, or running into Jonathon—Scarecrow.

She'd spent the last day or so trying to force herself to realize that Jonathon was no longer the man she knew. That now, he was someone else entirely. Someone hell-bent on spreading fear to others…the same kind of fear that resided in him.

She hated the thought of it…of him in pain, only because beneath it all, she was sure she deeply cared for him. And still did, even through her love for Bruce.

Bruce…she couldn't bear to see him again before she left. She hadn't seen him since he bailed her out of jail two days ago and took her back to her apartment, kissing her cheek and promising to call. But she couldn't wait—she booked a flight, packed her things and now stood in line at the ticket counter, waiting for an available checker.

Ev had no clue where even to start with words for Bruce. He simply meant too much for a sloppy, awkward goodbye. And so she hadn't told him when her flight was. She hadn't even waited for his promised call. She just packed and left, keeping all memories of him locked safely away.

"Next?" Ev wheeled her heavy suitcase up to the counter and gave the checker her flight information. She took a minute to glance around the airport as her ticket was processing, as though remembering every detail. After all, she wouldn't be coming back to Gotham ever again. There was simply no reason to.

A warm hand slipped in her right one, squeezing it softly. She turned sharply, her eyes softening as she met that most familiar smile.

"Oh, sir…do you have a ticket also?" The lady behind he counter stuttered, most surprised to see him suddenly at this woman's side.

"No." He answered softly, shaking his head, his eyes never leaving Ev.

"Well, here's your ticket Ms. Werren. Have a lovely flight."

"Thank you." Ev grabbed her ticket and laptop bag before walking from the counter, Bruce's hand still firmly in hers.

"How did you know I was here?" She suddenly asked, an investigative note to her voice.

"I did some research…."

"Maybe you should have been the research assistant and not me. You seem to be equally good at it." She said laughingly, hoping he wouldn't ask what unavoidably came next.

"So you were just going to leave without a word or a goodbye weren't you?" There it was—the question that she had been dreading. It had been the whole reason she never told him when she leaving in the first place. She pulled her hand from his, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"I…didn't know…what…." His hand wrapped tightly around hers, spinning her back around to him.

"Don't walk away from me Ev," he said gently, "just talk to me." She sighed in defeat.

"I didn't tell you…because I didn't want to see you again. Because just like now, I don't know what to say. And I didn't really want to say anything." He pressed his lips gently against hers, effectively cutting off her rambling. She relaxed so naturally under his kiss that she still could not believe this was the last time she would see him. She pulled her lips from his, but still held him in their tight embrace, feeling his cheek come to rest against hers. "Just like that." She heard herself whisper as he pulled his face back to meet her eyes before traveling down her neck.

"No scarf?" She looked at him curiously, shaking her head. "Even though it's colder there than it is here?"

"No…I've never owned one…" She said unsteadily, not sure what made him say that. He pulled his arms from around her and took the slate-blue soft wool scarf from around his own neck, looping it gently underneath her black coat collar.

"A sort of going away present?" She softly asked as she watched him smooth back down her collar. He shrugged almost embarrassedly.

"If you want to see it that way."

"You're surprisingly sweet…when you want to be." A playfully pointed light filled her eyes as he laughed silently. She placed a hand gently on his cheek and leaned in for one last sweet, simple kiss.

"If it wasn't selfish," he whispered against her ear, "I'd ask you to stay…until death do us part." She hugged him tighter, resting her cheek against his, feeling his hold on her tighten.

"I would love that more than anything," she answered, "but London isn't too much of a hop, skip and a jump away for someone like Bruce Wayne." She smiled knowingly as they parted and her eyes drifted to the clock.

"Bye Bruce." She simply said.

"Bye Ev." He returned her smile as he gently squeezed her hand one last time before she dropped it and walked over to the security line. He stood there still, unable to believe she was really leaving. She turned before she reached the guard and waved slowly with a small smile.

He returned her wave, watching her smile widen before she turned from him to the security guard, and uneventfully passed through international security. She slid her laptop bag over her shoulder and thought about turning around once more.

He watched her glance up at the gate sign, and turn to her left, rounding a corner, never looking back. And just like that, Ev was gone.

**Epilogue: Unexpected as roses in the snow **

**"Your turn this time." She said groggily, settling deeper in the pillow. She felt his arms leave her as he rose from the bed. She heard the door down the hall open, and his soft voice soothing the crying child.**

**Evelyn hoped Adam hadn't woken up—it was hard enough to get the 5 year old to bed a first time, much less a second time. But so far none of Camilyn's midnight cries had ever woken him up. Just her and Bruce. Of course he was only there for a month or so every year, so he didn't mind being woken up at all hours of the night.**

**She couldn't believe it had been six years since they'd met and she left Gotham for the security of Wales. But not even two months after she'd left had she realized she was pregnant, even though they'd said their goodbyes.**

**So she didn't tell him. Not that they had frequently communicated anyway—he stayed busy between his two lives and she was busy preparing to welcome a second life. So it had been with great surprise and confusion when he arrived on her doorstep one day only to find her eight months pregnant with his child. But never had such news seemed to brighten his life, and Evelyn had felt horrible for not telling him**

**Bruce was forced to return to Gotham before the birth of their child, Adam Thomas Werren. But he couldn't very well ignore Evelyn or his son, because despite everything and all the promises he'd made to himself since she'd left, he cherished them both.**

**So he took vacation one month of every year to spend over in Wales—claiming to others in Gotham that he was in Russia or Fiji or somewhere exotic—anything to eliminate the risk of Scarecrow finding out where Evelyn was.**

**Oh yes, Jonathon Crane—the Scarecrow—six years later, was still at large. That big reason, amongst some others, was why he hadn't brought Evelyn and Adam to Gotham. But he thought someday he just might do that. Especially now that Camilyn Victoria Werren had come into their lives a little over a year ago.**

**Ev listened to the nursery door quietly close and she lazily rolled back over to her side of the bed.**

**"I still can't believe it," he said sitting on the edge of the bed before sliding underneath the covers, "I have a son and daughter." He rolled his head over to face Ev's and watched her fighting to hide back laughter. "Alfred would die if he knew." He said lightly laughing.**

**"Of course he would." Ev agreed, laughing softly as she rolled over against his chest, feeling his arms encircle her. Even though he wasn't around very much, she never tired of him and believed she never would.**

**"I love you." She whispered, kissing his neck.**

**"For reasons I can't see." He said lightly, dismissively.**

**"Oh please…," she said sarcastically, kissing his cheek, "you know you love me too."**

**"How could I not?" He smiled overly sweet and she crinkled her nose.**

**"Don't make me sick…." She lowered her head back against his neck as a comfortable silence fell around them. "Are you really leaving tomorrow?"**

**"You know I have to."**

**"Don't people get curious when Batman disappears for as long as Bruce Wayne does?"**

**"There hasn't been a need for him to appear recently, so no…he comes and goes, appears here and there."**

**"Are you ever going to tell Adam and Camilyn?"**

**"Maybe…someday…," he pulled her closer against him, feeling her relax even more in his arms, "but for now Ev, lets just take things one thing at a time."**

**the end.**

* * *

the end. hopefully not overly mush & unbelieveable. i thought it seemed to be fitting & it sets things up for a possible sequel, to which there is an outline, but not sure if i should further hash it out. suggestions (yay or nay), comments & constrctive criticisimsare welcome.

thank you again for reading! not sure when something else will come up here, but you can check fictionpress (under the same pen name, MidnightBlast) in the meantimefor two original stories of mine currently being posted.

thanks again & 'till next time!


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